


The Other Woman

by Slytherin_vikiss



Series: Antony and Lysandra through time [2]
Category: A Courtesan of Rome (Visual Novel)
Genre: A Courtesan of Rome, Adultery, F/M, Miscarriage, Modern AU, Romance, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 77,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_vikiss/pseuds/Slytherin_vikiss
Summary: Modern take on my Mc-Lysandra and Marc Antony.Lysandra meets a handsome stranger at a party.Turns out he's the Minister of Defence of Italy.Turns out he's married.Turns out, she wants him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU take on Marc “if it’s human, I’ll fuck it” Antony and Lysandra.  
> Warnings: Meh, nothing too crazy happens in this one.

 

****

**The Other Woman**

**Part I**

  


Lysandra sighed for the hundredth time that night, raising the glass of champagne to her mouth only to realize it was already empty. Rolling her eyes at her own silliness, she quickly took another from a passing waiter and drowned half the contents in one gulp.

The night was just great! She was in foreign soil, in a room surrounded by strangers who didn’t seem very interested in talking to her, her parents were somewhere talking about things she never took the time to understand, and only god knew where her brother was. Not to mention, her gown was quite an uncomfortable piece. It looked pretty, yes, but the next time she would choose something a bit more loose, that allowed her to eat more than one oyster without feeling like the zipper might rip.

To be fair, she considered as she looked around at the room full of strangers, she had tried to talk to a few, but they quickly, and not so subtly opted for ignoring her, talking right over her as if she were suddenly invisible. Was her accent so terrible? Maybe she had said something wrong and they felt insulted. Or maybe they just didn’t like her.

Whatever. She’d be back home in a few months, back to university with her friends, although far away from her parents. Cingerix she could do without for a few months; he was still going through this insufferable phase right in between pre-teen and actual teen, where not even their loving mother could stand him at times.

She felt the need to find that sweet woman, Sabina, once more. She had been the only one to be nice to her the entire evening, but Lysandra didn’t want to come across as annoying.

She walked around for a bit, stopping for a few moments to admire the string quartet before continuing, straight for the bar.

She placed her now empty glass on the bar and addressed the bartender with a polite smile.

“Do you have vodka?” she asked, her italian sounding more clumsy than it had at the start of the evening.

The man gave her a puzzled look.

“Can you repeat that?”

She returned the look.

“Slower, per favore?”

“The lady asked for vodka. Really, it’s not that hard to understand.” said an appealing voice.

She looked to her left and found a man dressed in black staring down at her, an appreciative smirk in place.

“I was fine on my own.”

It seemed that it was a bit difficult to understand her after all, since it took the stranger a moment before chuckling under his breath.

“Yes, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, gorgeous.”

The bartender placed a glass in front of her and opened the bottle, but she snatched it from his hands.

“Merci.”

She took a big gulp, wincing just a bit. When she looked up, the stranger was still there, leaning against the counter, an amused expression seizing his handsome face.

“Sorry. Want some?” she asked, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious and down right stupid.

She expected him to turn down her offer, or even tell her how ill-mannered it was to drink from the bottle, and at such event at that, but instead he surprised her by accepting the bottle, taking a few gulps that left Lysandra wondering how he wasn’t coughing like a dying person.

He set the bottle back down and stared at her, completely unaffected.

“That was cool. Worrisome, but cool.”

“I’m glad to have impressed you. I can drown the entire bottle in one go, want to see?”

Smiling, she placed her hand on the bottle, stopping him. Her fingers brushed his, incredibly warm.

“Please don’t. I’d like it if you live another day.”

He conceded easily, his fingers seeming to toy with hers for a second before his hand dropped. Lysandra wondered if he did it in on purpose.

“Rough night?” he asked, turning around to look at the people scattered about the place.

She did the same, bottle in hand, fingers tingling where she had touched him.

“It could be worse.”she gazed out of the corner of her eyes, taking note of the way he tried not to tug on his tie, clearly uncomfortable. “You?”

“Me?” he smirked, still not looking at her “Everything was terrible and then I met you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“ _That_ was terrible. Does it ever work?”

“Work? Work for what?”

She blushed.

“I-I, I just thought you were…”

“Trying to get under in your pants? Not at all.”

_Earth, swallow me._

She looked away, completely appalled by her mistake, and just a tiny bit disappointed.

“I was trying to get under your skirt, actually.”

She turned to him, mouth open and eyes wide to find him wearing a smirk she found equally  attractive as annoying.

“ _Imbécile_.”

“I understood that.”

“But really, does that phrase ever work?” she asked, taking another sip from the bottle, hoping he could understand her attempted italian.

It seemed he had no trouble at all.

“You’d be surprised.”

She tilted her head, admiring his profile.

“Have I met you before?”

“Maybe in another life.” he winked, and she snorted.

Lysandra pushed herself away from the bar.

“Well, I’ll go enjoy this somewhere else.” biting her lip, ignoring the little voice in hear head screaming to just walk away, she looked over her shoulder “Wanna join? I can’t drink all this alone.”

The corner of his lips lifted, and Lysandra decided she wanted him.

“How could I refuse such a lovely lady?”

She turned, unable to keep visual contact for too long and breathed in. God, his eyes were too intense for her. Maybe it was a good thing; that way she wouldn’t permanently stare at him like an idiot.

She walked ahead, slowly sliding over the marble floor, hand clenched around the bottle. She could feel the man’s eyes on her back, burning its way through her. She swallowed, heart racing and hands starting to sweat. She took a sip, trying to calm her sudden nerves.

Nobody made an attempt to stop her, thankfully.

The cold breeze was a welcome relief. She looked to the left, then to the right, and was a tiny bit surprised to find they were the only ones outside with such a lovely weather.

Maybe it had to do with how plain the garden was, if it could even be called that. The grass was fake, that much was certain by only taking one look; it extended perfectly trimmed in all directions. There were a few fountains all in a perfect rect line, most likely at the exact same distance from each other. Surrounding the propriety there was a wall of hedges.

God, she hated it.

Why not real grass? And where were the flowers?! The place desperately needed flowers, and a few trees.

“I take it you’re not impressed.” said the stranger, stopping at her side.

She gave him a quick glance.

“Is there a something to be impressed by?”

He smirked, taking her hand.

“Come.”

She let him lead her, and if her heart was beating fast before, it was hammering now. His hand was rough, something one didn’t find regularly in her circles, and it told her he probably had a though start, just like her dad. His hand was also very warm, much like the italian weather she had experienced so far, and it made her own hand tingle.

They walked to the far end of the so called garden and sat down on the grass, their view of the venue obstructed by a fountain, but Lysandra didn’t really mind it. They weren’t missing out on anything.

He held her hand while she fidgeted with her gown, trying to find a comfortable position to sit. He followed after, taking the spot right next to her, his shoulder brushing hers. Lysandra handed him the bottle and looked up at the sky.

It was a bit strange. The stars were the same, but it didn't feel like it. She had barely been in Rome for less than a week, it was normal to be homesick, but she seriously doubted she would ever stop missing France, despite how close both countries were to each other.

 _“I’ll be going home soon, anyway.”_ she thought, blinking away a persistent tear _“I’ll go home, get my degree and I’ll stay there.”_

She could always visit her parents and brother during the holidays, but there was no way she’d be staying in that country for years.

Lysandra looked back down to her hands, resting on her lap.

“Can I ask something?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the man shrugging.

“Do they ever loosen up?” she inquired, while nodding towards the building, full of people but barely buzzing with life.

The man looked towards it, considering his words but for a moment.

“They warm up in time, but they won’t forget you don’t belong here.”

He said with with a pinch of bitterness, and she couldn’t help but look at his profile.

The man was magnetic. He hadn’t said much, but it had been enough to convince Lysandra of leaving a party with him; and she wasn’t one to easily follow. He was handsome as well, but one could only realize that with time. It was as if his attractiveness was hidden, revealing itself little by little the longer one stared. He had lines around his eyes, and she was almost certain they were from laughing and not frowning. There were also a few grey hairs on his temple, and it was the first time in her life Lysandra found such thing irresistible.

It was obvious he was older than she was, but she found that it didn’t make her want him any less. Strange, she had always been attracted to people her age.

_“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”_

He turned and gave her a knowing smirk, as if he could read her mind, and she looked away, finding the fountain just a meter from her suddenly most fascinating.

“Do you speak from experience?”

“I’m not foreign, but I was never meant to climb so high.”he confessed, and now it was his eyes that were glued to her. “They make sure I remember from time to time.”

“Méprisable. That’s not fair.”

She looked back at him and found his dark eyes on her lips. She felt suddenly breathless and very conscious of her deep red lipstick.

“You’re not here to comfort me.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway, voice husky:

“I’d say it depends in the kind of _comfort_ you’re looking for.”

She leaned closer, slightly tilting her head up.

“I don’t even know your name.” she whispered, her lips itching for his.

The corners of his own lifted.

“Antony. What about you?”

“Lysandra.”

“Well, _Lysandra,_ are you going to let me fuck you tonight?”

One thing was certain: no one had ever been so insolent and raunchy with her, all while sounding so polite.

She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his and tangling her hands in his hair. Antony answered immediately, grabbing at her waist and pressing her against him, one arm holding her while the other explored all that was on his reach. His hand, unsurprisingly bold, grabbed her ass and gave it a hard squeeze, earning a yelp from Lysandra.

Antony took advantage, letting his tongue inside her mouth, making sure she knew who had the upper hand. He took one of her legs in a vice-like grip, moving her until she was sitting on his lap.

Lysandra gently swayed her hips, moaning softly when she felt his growing hardness. He threw his head back and groaned, closing his eyes as she kept moving, the friction too delicious to even think of stopping as she kissed her way down his neck, biting softly on his pulse, her hands working on the bottoms of his waistcoat and roughly janking on his tie. He helped her, unbuttoning his shirt while she got rid of the tie, throwing it only god knew where.

She made the shirt aside and admired his chest for a moment, her hands caressing with greed the slightly hard planes up to his neck again, only for then place her lips on the flesh, licking and biting, burying her nails on his shoulder blades. Her lips went down his torso onto his stomach, one hand reaching for his belt when he stopped her, pulling her up again, but yanking her gown down, exposing her breasts to the summer breeze.

Antony undid her strapless bra and tossed it aside, his mouth closing around one of her breasts and biting softly, his teeth dragging through the flesh and then taking the nipple.

Lysandra moaned, unable to think of anything that wasn’t his hands all over her body and his mouth on her chest, the heat between her legs almost unbearable.

“A-Antony,...Agh!” she cried out when he bit with a little too much strength, the pain mixing with her pleasure.

He yanked on the skirt of her gown, and she moved to help him pull it up to her waist. One of his hands wrapped around her while the other slowly moved up her right leg, touch light as feathers.

His fingers ghosted over the part where she wanted to feel him the most, and a small, catlike sound of protest was the answer he got.

Antony chuckled against her skin, placing his hand over the hem of her pantis and carefully moving them aside, digits descending with laziness. His fingers barely touched her, and they both groaned.

“God, woman, you’re so wet.”

Lysandra couldn’t form a coherent thought, so she just moved her hips against his hand, demanding some sort of relief.

He attacked her neck with kisses as greedy as her hands, like he wanted to ravish her.

Antony complied, sliping one finger between her folds and inside her with ease. Lysandra forced herself not to jump at the sudden invasion, biting her lip and closing her eyes, moaning into his shoulder when his thumb found her clit.

He moved his finger in and out, slowly at first, his lips dragging through her shoulder, his hot breath delicious against her skin, his fragrance one of the few things she was well aware of.

“Jesus, you’re so tight.”

Her only response was a moan, her hips asking for a change of pace. He pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing with expertise, his finger meeting her demands.

Lysandra pressed her forehead against his, their breaths mingling as she rode his hand, her whereabouts completely forgotten.

She moved faster, and so did he, his own hips bucking up in reciprocation to her sounds of pleasure.

Lysandra bit her lip, the heat in the pit of her stomach growing until it became almost too much.

“I’m close.” she said, so out of breath she doubted she made any sense.

Antony’s movements intensified, grabbing the back of her neck.

“Open your eyes, gattina. Let me see you.”he spoke into her ear, his voice low and rough.

“Lysa!”

She did open her eyes alright, panic mixing with her extasis.

“Merde! C’est mon papa.”

She tried to get up but Antony held her with more strength, their torsos flush against each other.

“Where you think you’re going?”

He moved his finger more aggressively, her father’s voice ran through the space again, but she did nothing more than move her hips with urgency, the chances of being caught making her reach her high faster.

Her walls clenched around his finger, and right before she cried out, he kissed her, consuming all sound, his movements continuing, helping her through her orgasm.

The movements of her hips and his fingers slowed down until it came to a stop, and Lysandra took a moment to just sit there, with his thumb still on her clit and his finger deep inside of her.

She gasped when he took it out, and opened her eyes in time to see him lick the finger, his own eyes dark with lust but amused.

“Lysa!”

She wanted to punch him, and then fuck him until she couldn’t walk anymore.

Lysandra quickly fixed her gown, and let Antony help her with her bra. Her hands tried to smooth down her hair and she felt her face, noticing the heat hadn’t left her cheeks.

She leaned down and kissed him one last time, tasting herself on his tongue.

“Go, gattina, before you get in trouble.”

She looked down.

“Are you…”

“Don’t worry.” he studied her face for a moment, and she almost forgot about her father and jumped him again. Finally, he smirked, that same smirk that had gotten him right where he wanted,...almost “You’ll be seeing me soon.”

Lysandra didn’t question it, and only gave him a quick peck before standing up and walking away, oddly pleased with herself.

She found her father with ease just as he was about to round the corner opposite to where she had been.

“Papa!”

Victus smiled in mild relief when he saw her, heading back to her.

“Your mother is worried.” he told her in their language “She thinks you went home.”

“Can I?” she asked, glad to switch back to french.

“Stay for a bit longer, for your mother.”

“Papaaaa,...”

“One hour, and I’ll cover for you.”he proposed, placing an arm around her shoulders.

They shared the exact same smile and went back inside.

* * *

A few more days passed by, and Lysandra still wasn’t warming up to her new home. She made an effort for her parents, and so did Cingerix, in is own way.

He was out a lot, saying that he was meeting with his new friends, but Lysandra knew he was up on a tree in the backyard, napping the afternoon away.

How someone could sleep on a tree, she would never understand, but kept quiet for the sake of her parents.

She went out to the city in a few occasions, but Rome didn’t grown on her too much.

She did, however, find a few places where she felt more comfortable. Her favourite was a small cafe on a nearly forgotten street.

The place was lovely, the outer walls of a faded, soft pink, the inside small but pristine, and calibrachoas of all colours on the windows. The owners were a married couple well into their sixties, and they were too kind to her, guiding her into the italian way of coffee drinking. They couldn't make her budge on her no-sugar rule, but quickly persuaded her into trying their famous chocolate cake.

Chocolate was something Lysandra loved with passion, but there was something about that particular cake, in that particular cafe that made her weak at the mere thought.

Needless to say, the owners looked too pleased with themselves when she took to only order that.

They didn’t care about her terrible accent neither, and seemed to have the same ease to understand her that Antony had had.

Lysandra hadn’t seen Antony again, and she started to doubt she ever would. Maybe in some other party her father was invited to.

Did she want to see him again? She told herself that she didn’t; it wasn’t such a big deal. She let an older stranger stuck his fingers up inside her; great experience, now she could move on and only tell her best friend about it over some wine and then forget the subject. It didn’t matter.

Deep inside, she knew she was full of shit. She thought about him every day, and daydreamed of the way his dick would feel inside her, his weight pinning her down to her bed, his hands yanking her hair.

At night, she had restored to search calming sounds to sleep on youtube, or to simply focus on anything else that wasn’t Antony, the cocky bastard.

“Hello, Donna.”she greeted the woman as she entered the cafe one sunny day.

“Lysa, cara mia!” the woman walked around the counter and gave her a crushing hug, slightly swaying her from side to side “How have you been?”

“I was here the day before yesterday.”

“Yes, we noticed. It was too quiet.”

“Where’s Alberto?”

Donna waved a hand and returned to her place, taking a piece of cloth to resume her cleaning.

“Out, doing grocery shopping. He’ll be back soon.” she pointed to a small table inside the local, where a cup of black coffee and a portion of chocolate cake awaited her. “Sit, sit. It’s too hot to be outside, so I set you up here.”

“Grazie, Donna.” Lysandra smiled, letting her handbag down and taking the seat.

She looked up, absentmindedly cutting a piece of cake with the side of the fork and taking it to her mouth. There was a small, old tv hanging from a support in the corner. The local news channel was on, and the reporter spoke into the microphone with incredible speed. Lysandra sat very still, like a statue, her chewing in pause, hellbent on not asking Donna for help with the translation.

If she wasn’t mistaken, a capitano di vascello was on trial for abuse of power, and the reporter was waiting for the Minister of Defence, who was to testify before the parliament.

Lysandra took another bite of her cake and started to cough, grabbing at her throat and reaching for her coffee with shaky hands.

“Dio mio!”

She felt Donna patting her back while she took a sip of her coffee, ignoring the burn of the hot liquid sliding down her throat and the stain on her new white dress.

She accepted the glass of water and drank viciously, eyes glued to the screen, where a handsome man well dressed spoke with the reporter in a bored tone.

“W-who…”

Donna looked up at the screen, confusion written across her face. Lysandra pointed at Antony’s face as he condescendingly patted the reporter’s cheek and left, heading towards a tall, white and salmon building.

“That?”asked Donna, watching how Antony greeted a few other reporters. “That’s Marc Antony Conti, the Minister of Defence.”

“Pardon?”

Donna tilted her head, her eyes now considerate.

“He’s a bit young, now that I think about it.”she gave Lysandra a sideways glance “He’s not ugly, you know.”

She froze in place, her eyes still stinging from her brief near-death experience, following Antony’s figure as he walked ahead.

How didn’t she know this? Why didn’t he tell her?

_Maybe because you were too horny to make small conversation._

She told herself it wasn’t so bad. So, he was important, and what? It’s not as if what they did was illegal. They were both adults, and nobody was going to burst through the door and arrest her.

“Who’s that?” she asked, pointing at the woman walking by his side. Lysandra couldn’t see her face, but the woman was elegantly dressed in dark blue, matching Antony’s suit.

“Um? Oh, that’s his wife, Fulvia.”

_Ah, merde._

  



	2. Chapter 2

Modern AU take on Marc “if it’s human, I’ll fuck it” Antony and Lysandra. 

**Book:** A Courtesan Of Rome.

**Pairing:** Marc Antony x MC (Lysandra)

**Warnings:** Meh, nothing  **too** crazy happens in this one.

**The Other Woman**

**Part II**

  
  
  
  


Another week went by, and Lysandra was delighted to have found a library where most books were in french. She was still homesick, especially after skyping with her closest friends, Mariette and Geoff, who had been her partners in crime ever since she was eight.

Her father political career had taken a positive turn, and the people working for him had advised that his children would be better off in a private school.

Cingerix wasn’t born yet, and little Lysandra had to endure the sudden change all alone.

The first private school she went to, she absolutely hated it. Some of the kids were mean to her because she wasn’t always rich and her hair was untamable, and they had taken to make her life impossible. The other kids didn’t go near her out of fear of being bullied as well.

She endured the mistreatment for almost four months, not wanting to worry her parents, until one day she came home crying her eyes out, one of the sleeves of her uniform ripped off, yellow paint all over her messy curls. Her mother had been horrified, and had set herself to the task of cleaning her daughter off, but Lysandra didn’t want to go near anybody. Only when her father arrived a few hours later did she calm down, letting him scoop her up in his arms.

“No more crying, Lysa.”he said softly, and she quickly wiped off her tears, nodding eagerly.

She didn’t go to school the next day, and though she couldn’t switch to another immediately and that set her off one year behind, the wait was worth it.

The second private school she went to was great. The first few days were a bit difficult, and she started crying whenever a teacher tried to pair her up with another kid. It was one rainy thursday during recess when two kids approached her holding hands. The boy offered her a strawberry lollipop, and they became best friends before the bell rang.

They had been together ever since, going from one place to the other together. It wasn’t strange to see them all holding hands, or running through each other’s belongings like it was theirs.

Things had changed a bit when they went to university. They all wanted to do different things, which meant they had to go separate ways, but they talked on the phone at all times and met every other weekend. 

Now she was in a different country, not so far away, but no longer a drive away. Geoff was away, trying to be of service to the world and save the fishes from plastic, and Mariette had stayed in Paris, as an intern for a fashion magazine her aunt was an art director for.

“This summer sucks.”had said Mariette the previous night, after they miraculously managed to coordinate a skype call.

Lysandra told them about Antony, about what had happened at her father’s welcome party and how she had later found out he was married.

“What you said was his name?” her friend had asked, tying her ash blonde hair into a bun with a pencil.

Geoff had proceeded to console her, telling her how she didn’t know, and how  _ he _ should be the one feeling guilt. 

“I can go there and punch him for you.”

Mariette scoffed.

“Geoff, you cry when you crack your fingers.” she said, her tone bored as she looked at something on her phone. An appreciative sound escaped through her green lips “Well, this Antony guy is hot, so at least there’s that. Don’t worry. Rome’s big, I doubt you’ll see him again.”

They changed the subject after that, and for the first time since she had moved, Lysandra felt better.

That feeling vanished when the call ended, and she was once again left alone in the dark of her room.

She sat in front of her electric piano and put on her headphones as to not awake anybody, but nothing came to mind, and it only served to frustrate her more.

She visited Donna and Alberto’s cafe bright and early the next day, and set off to explore some more after leaving, promising to go back soon.

She was delighted to find a french library. There were books in several languages, but most were in her native language, and it was like having a small part of home with her.

She picked up a second-hand copy of a Tolstoi and opened it, reading the dedicatory someone had scribbled in a corner.

_ “Anna’s end suits you, cunt.” _

Lysandra eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. Wow, how sweet!

She wondered if there were more salty comments throughout the book, and decided that it was time for a re-read.

“Hello, gattina. Don’t you look radiant today.”

If there was a god above, he hated her.

She barely looked up, pretending to be invested in the book.

“Oh, it’s you.” was her disdainful response.

She felt Antony moving closer until his chest brushed her side. Her heart did that stupid thing again, seeming to want to jump out of her chest.

“I was expecting a warmer welcome.” he took a curl that had escaped the improvised ponytail she had made with a bandana and placed it behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment “Or did I not satisfy you the other night? Need a little reminder?”

She didn’t  _ need  _ a reminder; the mere memory had her clenching her legs, wondering what would have happened if they hadn't gotten interrupted, but she did however  _ wanted  _ one. Most definitely.

She batted his hand away and took a step back, daring to make eye contact.

“I wonder what your wife will think about it.”

She wasn’t too sure of what sort of reaction she was expecting from him. Shock, denial, maybe even anger, but certainly not laughter.

She gave him a bewildered look, and he returned an amused one in kind.

“So, you found out.”

“Is that all you’re gonna say?” she asked, anger starting to rise.

He leaned against the shelve, arms crossed over his chest, his intense eyes refusing to wander off her. She didn’t fail to notice how the suit tightened around his shoulders and upper arms.

“What do you want me to say?”

Lysandra gesticulated with her arms, not believing the nerve of the man.

“I don’t know! You should’ve told me you were married. Hell, you should’ve stayed away from me!”

She dropped her voice to an angry whisper, not wanting to draw the attention of the few customers and employee.

He shrugged, looking away to some random book, and casually reaching for it, inspecting it with disinterest.

“You never asked.”

“Am I to assume everybody who hits on someone is taken?”

“I would.”he replied, putting the book back in its place, turning his attention to her once again “We humans can be despicable creatures, and you should always assume the worst. That way you’ll have an easier time surviving.”

She shook her head.

“That’s just sad.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true.”

Lysandra looked away for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

“I suppose you know who my father is.”

“Correct.”

“Does it have anything to do with why…”

“If I wanted to annoy your father I’d seduce your mother, not you.” 

Lysandra gave him her nastiest look.

“Don’t you dare.”

He smirked, leaning towards her.

“Don’t get your claws out yet, gattina. I’ve got my eyes set on someone else.”he looked her up and down, much like he had done the other night, and her breath caught in her throat. He slowly took her hand, his touch like that of a ghost, and then yanked hard, pressing her body to his. He turned them so that her back was against the shelve, completely trapped between him and the wood. His faces were just millimeters apart, their breaths mingling. Slowly, he rubbed his body against hers, hips pressing until he managed to squeeze one leg between hers. Lysandra licked her lips almost unconsciously, and the small action caught his eye. She almost forgot why she didn’t want to see him again, the urge of ripping off his clothes and let him have her in the spot making her dig her nails into the shelve. Antony took her small chin between with two fingers, angling her face up “I saw you the other night, all alone watching the musicians, and I wanted you instantly.”

His fingers left her chin, wrapping themselves around her neck, the leg between hers rubbing slowly. Lysandra gasped, feeling like there was a pool right in her center. Could he feel it? God, she hoped not.

He pressed himself fully against her, the rubbing of his leg against her still slow, but harder.

“Don’t pretend to be angry, gattina. We both know you want me just as much.”

Her eyes settled on the row of books behind him and she frowned, pushing him off her, her body aching for him despite what her head screamed.

“Don’t play games with me.”she growled, face flushed as she put some distance between them.

“Oh, I’m not playing,...yet.”

Her frown deepened. Was everything a joke to this guy?

“I don’t know where you got this crazy idea that I want you,...”

Antony rolled his eyes.

“Please, it’s a bit obvious. Let’s not forget how you moaned my name like a…”

“But you’re wrong.”she steeled herself, shoulders back and head held high. “I don’t sleep with married people.”

“There won’t be sleeping involved.”

“You’re impossible!” she rose her tone, and immediately looked around, hoping nobody would come to shut her up “Look, If you want to be an adulterous asshole, go get you someone else. You’re wasting your time with me.”

His predatory smirk was back in place, and he approached her once more, slowly, like a lion sneaking up on his food.

“Now you just made me want you more.”he whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes shining in excitement. “Very well, then. I do love a challenge.”

“Get. Fucked.”she spat at him.

“Whenever you want to, gattina.”

She put the Tolstoi book down.

“I’d say it’s been nice knowing you, but it really hasn’t.”

She wanted to be the one to have the last word, so she spun around and left in a hurry, his eyes burning her back.

* * *

Lysandra’s brother could be the most annoying creature on earth, but he loved Meryl Streep movies, so she endured his constant talking just to watch the american woman stealing the show everytime she was on screen.

They were sitting on the couch,...

Lysandra was sitting on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on her lap, a glass of apple juice on the coffee table, while her brother took up most of the space.

Cingerix’s eyes were glued to the screen, his voice in tuned with Meryl’s as he spoke the lines in time with her.

“...when in fact, you’re wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room, from a pile of  _ stuff _ .”

“Jesus! Are you going to recite the whole thing?”she asked, looking at him with mild annoyance. 

Actually, she thought it was cute how he knew the movie like the back of his hand, but the voice acting had gotten boring, and she wanted to entertain herself by getting on Cingerix’s nerves, which was extremely easy to do.

He kicked her.

“Shut up!”

“Don’t touch me with your dirty feet!” she ran her hand over her jeans, her nose turned up in disgust “Where’ve you been anyway? You look disgusting.”

“I was taking a walk through your life expectations. I caught all this there.”

She pushed his feet off the couch, but he placed them back up.

“Stop it!”

“You stop it!”

“I’m telling maman!”

“Ooooh, I’m telling maman!”she mocked, trying not to laugh at his rising temper. “Grow a pair, man.”

Cingerix shot her a murderous look and lunged at her, but Lysandra saw it coming and dodged, throwing herself back and barely avoiding him. Cingerix landed face down on the other side of the couch, and she pushed him down to the floor, where he fell with a sharp sound.

“Ouch!”

Sha laughed.

“Butter.”

He grabbed her ankle and pulled her down, quickly climbing atop of her.

“What if I cut all your hair?”

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

Lysandra kicked his stomach, careful of not hurting him, and pushed him onto his stomach, now being the one on top.

She pressed his face into the carped.

“Mmmmah nose.”came his muffled comply.

“Touch my hair and I’ll burn your action figures.”for better effect, she paused before adding “Starting with Captain America.”

Cingerix struggled, a muffled scream of rage vibrating through the floor, but failed at getting up. Lysandra laughed, shifting her weight so he couldn’t get up, but making sure he didn’t get hurt for real.

“LYSANDRA! LEAVE YOUR BROTHER ALONE!”

She jumped away from him upon hearing her mother’s voice, eyes wide, terrified at being caught.

“He started it!”

Delphinia advanced on them, hands on her hips, lips pursed.

“I don’t care! You’re the oldest, you should set the example.”

Behind their mother, Cingerix pointed a finger at her, clutching his nose and snickering. Delphinia turned to him.

“And you! Go take a shower. You’re filthy.”

Cingerix got up and left, right after pausing his movie and throwing his sister a nasty look behind their mother’s back, but she stayed, still kneeling on the floor.

She contemplated her mother for a moment, biting her lip, considering if sharing what had happened earlier that day on the library was a good idea.

If she told her mom, she would tell her dad, who would no doubt be furious and cause an international disaster by killing Antony with his bare hands after a session of torture. Besides, she had never really asked Delphinia for advice on boys, that’s what Mariette and Geoff were for. The three of them had stumbled and fallen and basically screwed up many times by following the other’s advices, but they had learnt together, and she really couldn’t see herself talking about the subject to someone who wasn’t them.

She came to the conclusion she’d have to wait until they could coordinate another call, and only hoped the silence didn’t eat her alive.

“What is it, honey?” her mom asked, taking a seat on the armchair, getting the sleeve of a wool sweater out of a bag and slowly setting to work.

Lysandra shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

“N-nothing, it’s nothing.” she could see her mother didn’t fully believe her, so she hurried “We’re still going to the first lady birthday party, right?”

Delphinia nodded.

“Yes. This friday.”

“Do you need help with the present?”

“I already have it, but thank you.”

“Oh,...right.” she settled on the couch again, not wanting to be alone with her all consuming thoughts, took the remote and pressed play.

* * *

The next day, she realized her shoes didn’t match her evening gown, and set off towards the center of the city in search of a pair.

Her parents weren’t home when she got down to have breakfast, and Cingerix was still sleeping. She ate slowly, checking an email she had gotten from Mariette, complaining about how her aunt kept hovering around her.

She smiled softly, finishing her omelette and drowning the last of her orange juice, thanking the new chef before going back to her bathroom to brush her teeth.

She sent Mariette a picture of the gown she had chosen for the evening and asked for some advice on the shoes, but knew that the moment her friend had enough time to breathe, let alone read her response, she would already have the shoes.

It was probably not the most appropriate gown for a birthday party, even less so when one had into consideration that the party was for the wife of the president, but Lysandra wasn’t about to admit that.

Even less, she wasn’t about to admit that the reason she had chosen that particular red gown was in the hopes that Antony would be there, and that he’d see her in it.

What was the italian word? Vendetta?

She smirked, picturing his reaction, letting him know he could never have her,...again.

Oui, vendetta would be sweet, if she found the right shoes.

She heard the gate closing behind her and took out her earbuds, her intention that of walking to the store with the music as her only companion.

She only made it one block away from the private neighborhood her family resided when someone called her name.

Confused, she turned and paused the piece, watching a small, bald man approaching. He wore a dark suit, and had a serious aura about him that didn’t raise any alarms.

“Lysandra Subercaseaux?”asked the man, struggling a bit with her surname.

She nodded slowly.

“That’s me. Do I know you?”

Maybe he worked for her father.

He extended a gift bag in her direction, and a bit weary, she took it, peeking inside and noticing a book.

Curious, she took it out, intelligence abandoning her when she noticed it was the book she had almost bought the previous day.

She opened it, and there it was, the same dedicatory, but with another handwriting underneath.

_ What do you think it’s the story there?” _ and an arrow pointing at the crude message up.

She looked up, and the man offered a stunning bouquet of red roses and baby breaths.

Lysandra didn’t ask who sent him. She wasn’t that stupid.

“Do you have a pen?” 

She accepted the flowers, and waited patiently as the man searched his chest pocket, producing a simple pen. She took it and balancing everything, wrote down a small response on the book.

_ “Don’t know. But I feel you’re familiar with the subject.” _

She closed the book, put it back in the pretty bag, and handed it to the man along with the pen.

A teenage boy was riding his bicycle, street up.

“Hey! Hey, you!”

The boy stopped, eyeing her, then the man.

“Everything alright, signorina?”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” she asked, approaching him.

The boy hesitated before answering, not understanding the nature of the question.

“I have a girlfriend. Clara’s her name.”

Lysandra smiled, handling him the bouquet.

“Why don’t you give her these? I’m sure she’ll love them.”

The boy’s grey eyes lit up, and a dimpled smile appeared on his sweet face.

“Grazie mille, signorina!” he gave her a brief hug, patting her back, and she smiled charmingly as he carefully placed the beautiful flowers in the basket.

She turned around. The man seemed impassive.

“I’ll pass along the message.”he said.

“Grazie.” she answered coldly, resuming her walk.

* * *

**Translation time (italian):**

Gattina: kitten.

Vendetta: revenge.

Grazie: Thank you.

Grazie mille: Thank you very much.

Signorina: young lady.

**French:**

Oui: yes.

Maman: mom.

  
  
  
****


	3. Chapter 3

**The Other Woman**

**Part III**

__  
  


The french woman looked herself in the mirror, nodding in approval. Her gown was cherry red, with a v-neck that was scratching the line of decency; it fell till it barely kissed the floor, the fabric hugging her figure tightly, but flowing a bit more from hip and down, enough so that walking would be easier. After receiving Antony’s little gifts, she had hurried to the city’s stores with newfound purpose, and chosen a classy pair of black ankle-strap heels, because she always liked the extra support of the straps, and the way it flattered her legs.

As it was costum, she did her hair by herself, picking it up and pulling it back in an elegant low ponytail, leaving her neck practically bare.

She contemplated her reflection in the mirror, trying to decide on what to bring the attention to on her face. Lips or eyes? She decided on the eyes after a few seconds, and quickly set to work. 

The trick of french make-up was to make it seem like there was barely anything on the person’s face, like they had either put on some eyeliner or lipstick. Mariette’s aunt had taught them her ways, and both women still clung to the older woman’s advices. She put on a pair of earrings and took her clutch, smirking at herself.

She really hoped her efforts weren’t in vain.

“What do you think?” she asked her cat, Sabrina, who laid in her bed.

Sabrina was a black cat Lysandra had found on the streets when she was twelve. She found a small box with five kittens, barely a month old. She took them all home, and asked her mother for help. Together, they nursed them all back to health and gave them in adoption. Geoff’s cousin had one, and Lysandra hadn’t been able to part from Sabrina, who had clinged to her from the very first moment. The feline was missing an eye, and to that day Lysandra wondered what had happened to her.

Sabrina looked up, but immediately went back to licking her paw.

“You’re no Helen of Troy either, you know?”

Quickly scratching her behind her ears, she made sure the animal had everything she needed before leaving, softly closing the door behind her.

She walked down the stairs, readying herself for her mother’s disapproval.

“What are you wearing?” the question didn’t make itself wait “It’s a birthday party, not a night in a casino.”

“I think I look great!”she smiled, turning to Cingerix, who was too busy on his phone. “Right, Cig?”

“Uh? Yeah, yeah, totally.”

“Victus?”

Her father sighed, waving a hand dismissively.

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late.”

Delphinia looked at her one more time, pursing her lips.

“Are you sure you want to wear that?”

Lysandra walked towards the door,  hiding her devilish expression.

“Yes, very.”

* * *

She was starting to regret her decision. It was obvious her so called “gown” wasn’t appropriate for the occasion, and her father had to drag her to greet the president and his wife.

They were both very polite, didn’t gave her one of the funny looks some of the other guests had, and the first lady went as far as to compliment her hair.

Subtly, she made a round of the ballroom, but didn’t see Antony there. What if he wasn’t attending? Maybe she was making a fool of herself for nothing.

No, he had to show up. He was the Minister of Defence, it’d look odd if someone so high in rank didn’t show up at the party.

She was supposed to keep an eye on her brother, but she let him slip out and looked the other way. Lysandra enjoyed annoying him, not smothering him like a mother bear, and she trusted him enough to not set the mansion on fire.

Resisting the urge to start her sponge act and drown her glass of champagne, she tapped her finger against the glass, looking around. Her father was talking to the ambassador of Brazil, and her mother was still by the first lady’s side. They seemed to be getting along just fine.

She huffed in annoyance. Her feet were killing her, she wanted a hamburger, and her skull would be screaming in pain when she undid the ponytail. Where was that asshole?

Maybe it was for the best if he didn’t show up. He seemed to be serious the other day in the library, and the incident with the flowers were proof enough. The last thing she wanted was to cause an accident that would make her father look bad.

Her mother caught her eye and lightly waved a hand, inviting her to join her conversation with the first lady. She turned around immediately, pretending to not have noticed, and marched towards her father, who welcomed her with a warm smile, placing a calloused hand around her shoulders.

“This is my daughter, Lysandra.” he introduced her to the brazilian man.

The guy seemed to be almost sixty, was tall and his skin dark. His eyes were young though, jovial and full of life.

She kissed his cheeks.

“Boa noite, senhor.”

“Ah, you speak portuguese?” he asked, a wide smile on his face.

She felt more animated immediately.

“Not really, I only know a few things.”

The ambassador chuckled.

“Well, your pronunciation is very good.”

She smiled at him, completely at ease.

“Victus.” a new, unknown voice greeted.

The three of them turned in time to see a tall man approaching. Lysandra studied him quickly. He seemed older than her father, but not as old as the brazilian ambassador; his skin was tanned, his dark eyes were inviting but had a calculating edge to them, and his head lacked any hair. His arm was linked to the one of a small woman. She seemed distant, as if she were kilometers away from her current location, her blue eyes trained ahead of her, lips slightly parted.

Next to them was Antony, walking next to a tall woman who clearly didn’t want to be there. Lysandra didn’t pay her any attention though, her eyes settling on the man at her side, and wasn’t surprised to find him dressed all in black. Antony’s own eyes were set on her, and he quickly looked her up and down. Lysandra smirked, watching how he swallowed, his apple bobbing up and down quickly before greeting her father and the brazilian ambassador.

The other man turned his attention to her.

“Ah, this must be your daughter. Lysandra, was it?”

She nodded, briefly kissing his cheeks and the woman’s, who barely seemed to notice the greeting.

“That’d be me.”she looked up to her father “Have you been talking about me behind my back?”

Victus smiled, patting her shoulder.

“Only good things.”he extended an arm towards the man “This is Senator Julius Caesar and his wife, Calpurnia.”

Caesar smiled and Antony coughed. She didn’t miss the wince her father pulled.

“This is Antony Conti, he’s Minister of Defence, and his wife Fulvia.”

Lysandra wasn’t too sure on how to proceed. Was she to pretend like she didn’t know him already? What if she did and he got angry, spilling their secrets to her dad? And what if she didn’t, and he got angry nonetheless?

Antony took the lead, stepping ahead and taking her hand, placing a gallant kiss on the back of it. She rose an eyebrow, while Caesar and Fulvia lightly rolled their eyes.

“Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

“Sir.”

Her father pressed her to his side, and Lysandra took a mental note to ask him about Antony later.

“Your father told me you’re quite the talented musician, Lysandra.”said Caesar, his smile pleasant and attentive.

“Yes, actually. I study in Poitiers.”

“Maybe you’ll play something later.”Caesar’s wife, Calpurnia, spoke for the first time, taking the french woman by surprise. Her gaze was demure, but still partially distant. Lysandra felt uneasy with those blue orbs trained on her. “I’m sure Carlotta will love it. One of her charities involves a conservatory in Enna.”

Carlotta was the name of the first lady.

“Excellent idea!”her husband agreed, nodding towards his wife once.

Lysandra began to get nervous.

“Oh, I’m afraid I didn’t prepare anything.”

Which wasn’t an issue with an experienced musician. There always was something or another they could play by memory in an instant, and make it seem like they had practiced ardently before presenting it. She just didn’t feel like it, especially if Antony was going to be looking at her in such a way the entire evening.

She was starting to regret her decision. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his, and he winked.

She hoped her dad didn’t notice.

“Please,”Antony spoke, eyes refusing to let her escape “delight us.”

She tilted her head, biting her lip on purpose this time, not wanting to seem like a coward by backing into her shell. 

He may think himself smooth or, but she could read him well enough.

“Only if you think you can endure it.”she told Antony and then chuckled, looking around their group “I know classical isn’t for everyone.”

Antony’s wife huffed and crossed her arms, but was ignored. It seemed like they were used to her antics.

“Nonsense, we’ll be happy to listen.”Caesar reassured her.

Slowly, Lysandra nodded.

“Very well.”she casually looked behind her for a moment and her eyes lit up when she saw Sabina, the woman from the other night, sitting by herself near by. Two birds in one shot. She smiled charmingly “If you’ll excuse me, I just saw a friend.”

Her father released her of his hold and she turned, exposing her half naked back, heading towards Sabina slowly, her hips slowly swaying with each step.

She squeezed her way through two small groups of people and took the chance to look back at Antony, mentally laughing at the dark look on his face.

Turning her head dismissively, she walked on.

* * *

 

Quietly, Lysandra closed the bathroom door and locked it, leaning back against it casually. Antony looked up, mildly surprised, smirking at her reflection as he closed the water tap and picked up the towel.

“Changed your mind after all? I thought it’d take a bit more effort, not that I’m complaining.”

She matched his grin, staying in her place.

“The flowers were a nice try.”

“Were they? Ah,” he looked down for a moment as he dried his hands and put on his clock again, as if they were talking about something trivial and not his intentions of making her a homewrecker “I was told you didn’t like them.”

“Roses are cliché. Try harder next time.”

“Next time, eh?”

The stupid smirk was back in place, and suddenly locking the door seemed like the most silly idea.

“Next time, with the next woman.”

He turned, imitating her pose against the washbasin, contemplative.

“So, you don’t like roses.”

“I do like them.”

“If you don’t want roses, what then?” he crossed his arms, and once again, Lysandra’s gaze flickered to his arms for a moment. “Carnations? No, you’re not dead. Jazmines? You do smell like them. Perhaps tulips”

“I don’t want flowers.”

“Ah, no?” one of his fingers pressed against his chin and he looked up at the cream ceiling, deep in thought “A necklace? Gold or silver? Rubies or onyx? I imagine, if you found roses  _ cliché _ , a diamond won’t satisfy you.”

“I don’t want any gifts, Antony.”she said, her voice steadier than what she felt like “I don’t want to do this.”

“Then why did you come here?” he retorted, briefly looking at the lock and then at her once more before adding slowly: “And why did you lock the door?”

Lysandra pressed herself against the wood, wanting to go through it and be far away from his eyes, and also wanting to be in the prison of hs arms.

Weird feeling it was, knowing she could have the forbidden fruit whenever it pleased her. She knew it was wrong and thereof tried to stay away, but deep inside, she knew she was terrible enough not to care that it was out of limits. Knowing didn’t equal caring, and it both scared and thrilled her to find out the awful difference.

Antony beckoned her with a finger, and she felt her tired feet carrying her towards him.

She sometimes boasted about her brains, but in reality she was quite stupid, playing with fire in a desert.

Antony placed his arms around her with uncharacteristic gentleness, and she tilted her head up, admiring his face up close. There was a small scar on his right cheek

“I do like jazmines.”she said, voice low but carrying out like a shout.”All kinds of them, and orchids.”

“I like red.” he said, his nose brushing hers as his hand travelled down her side “You truly look like a goddess tonight.”

She leaned up on her toes and placed her lips on his, kissing him softly, one of her hands clenching his arm. Antony’s tongue invaded her mouth immediately, and she happily surrendered, letting him have his way and trusting they’d both enjoy it.

His arms tightened around her and he bit her lower lip, pulling back for a second with an animalistic growl before moving his lips and tongue to her jaw, kissing his way up to her earlobe, teeth scraping the skin lightly.

The feel of the still cold silver ring on his finger running up her back sent a thrill up her spine. He grabbed her arms and spun her around, pressing her hips against the sink, and his front against her back.

Antony kissed his way down to her neck, biting hard on the junction with her shoulder, and Lysandra couldn’t contain the moan and threw her head back, both hands on the sink for support. Still sucking on the same spot, Antony rose his eyes.

“We make a handsome pair, don’t you think?” he asked into her skin, his voice vibrating against her.

She contemplated their reflection, but didn’t voice her agreement, and instead pushed back into him, one hand going up and burying itself in his hair, her own lips craving his. He indulged her happily, both hands coming up to cup her breasts.

Lysandra looked at the mirror again, sighing breathless at the image of Antony devoting his attention to her body. Her hands went up, wanting to be rid of her gown, but Antony’s took them between his, slamming them back down and intertwining their fingers, pushing her further forward, until her breath clouded the mirror. Antony’s hands abandoned hers, slowly creeping up her arms rising goosebumps, his lips at the back of her neck, starting to trace her spine with no hurry.

The door opened and Lysandra jumped, putting a meter of distance between her and Antony, the absence of his warmth making her feel cold and exposed.

Caesar stood at the doorway, clearly not impressed.

“Really? You couldn’t wait until after the party? Sometimes I think you’re deliberately trying to cause an international conflict.” his tone was bored, but she was certain there was an irritated undertone there.

Antony huffed, rolling his eyes.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” 

Caesar held up a key.

“Oh, great! Leave that here and go.”

Caesar didn’t move, his eyes now cold.

“Antony…”

“Fine.” 

Lysandra watched as her companion walked towards the door and stopped on the frame, looking back at her with hungry eyes.

“We’ll have to find better hiding places.”he winked at her.

Caesar didn’t even look at her, closing the door behind them.

“What you need to find is your wife, you…”

She didn’t hear anything else, and slowly sat at the edge of the bathtub, feeling frustrated, humiliated and worst of all, barely ashamed of herself.

Fire wasn’t so fun after all.

* * *

**Translation time!**

**Portuguese:** Boa noite, senhor- Good evening, sir.

**French:** Enchanté, mademoiselle- Nice to meet you, miss (I’m also pretty sure this the informal version)

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****


	4. Chapter 4

**The Other Woman**

**Part IV**

__  
  


“FUCKING FINALLY!”

Lysandra rushed down the stairs still in her pajamas, and pushed Cingerix aside, a thrilled smile on her face.

She made it down and barely contained herself from jumping up and down like a child during christmas while two men pushed her piano through the hall.

“The music room is that way.”she directed them, taking the lead, practically skipping.

“The peace has ended.”muttered Cingerix, receiving a long middle finger as response.

She led them to a big set of double doors, the curtains kee

ping the contents of the place a mystery, and pushed them open with rushed thoughtless. She made sure to keep hold of one of the sides, waiting for the men to walk through.

Right across the hall there was another set of double doors identical to hers, and from those her dad’s head popped out, mildly disoriented. She wondered if he had fallen asleep on his study again.

Victus saw her and smiled at her antics, shaking his head in endearing amusement as Lysandra pointed at the piano, now being placed in the middle of the room.

Practically running inside, she hurriedly made her harp aside -barely noticing the weight in her haste-, careful of not breaking anything, and set herself to the task of helping the men to accommodate the piano to her tastes.

Her mother took care of the rest, while Lysandra forgot about everything, absent-mindedly placing her booth in front of the instrument and taking a seat, lifting the fallboard, fingers ghosting over the keys, tingling, right before she pressed the first notes with her right hand, the chords following soon after with the left.

She truly had no idea what she was playing, but she didn’t really care; it sounded good though.

Ever so slowly, the pace changed, transitioning into something more soulful, and for just a second, she heard the winds and strings backing up the melody.

“That was,...primal.” was what Delphina said, leaning against the instrument.

Lysandra jumped; she hadn’t realized she had an audience.

“What was?”

“What you just played. Is it new? I’ve never heard it before.”

Lysandra bit her lip, staring at the empty music rack.

“I-I don’t…”she cleared her throat. “I don’t know, I just started and didn't think of it.”

Her mother nodded.

“Were you thinking of someone special maybe?” she smiled mischievously “Cassius, by any chance?”

She abstained from rolling her eyes. Her mother would be in cloud nine if she and Cassius ever got back together.

Truth was, she was thinking of someone she couldn’t really have, but she wasn’t about to confess such thing.

“Sure, maman. Whatever you say.”

Delphinia sighed, patting the piano before turning to leave, muttering something about ‘poor boy’.

Lysandra huffed. Poor boy, indeed.

* * *

Absentmindedly checking on her phone, Lysandra waited for the bus to pass by, looking up from time to time to make sure she didn’t miss the vehicle.

There had been a concert in a park earlier in the afternoon, a philharmonic played a film repertoire, and she hadn’t wanted to miss it.

It was an entertaining affair, and it left her feeling a bit warmer towards her new home.

Cingerix had refused to go, sick of anything that had to do with music played by classical instruments, and their mom was off to some hospital; she often kept herself busy by volunteering in such places, visiting the people, making donations and generally helping in whatever she could. Lysandra used to tag along when she was younger, but it had been years since the last time they had both gone together; and Cingerix was reaching the same stage.

As for her father, she hadn’t seen him at all that day, nor the day before. He had just adjusted to his new job, and Lysandra had a feeling she wouldn’t be seeing much of him anytime soon.

She yawned, shuddering at the sudden chill of the approaching night and pulled up the zipper of her hoodie, checking the time.

A sleek, black Maserati Ghibli pulled up in front of her, and the window rolled down. Lysandra rolled her eyes, and Antony’s smirk grew.

“You’re like dirt under fingernails, you know?”she told him, putting her phone away in her pocket “We clean you up, but five seconds later, there you are again.”

He tapped his fingers against the wheel, his face blank.

“Are you finished?”

“Yeah.”she didn’t try to approach him. “But, what are you doing here? You’re not following me, are you?”

He laughed at that.

“And risk a restraint order? No, don’t worry.” he looked around her. “What are you doing sitting there anyways?”

_ Is he dumb? _

“Waiting for a bus?”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll take me home?”

Antony rolled his eyes.

“You’re not seriously taking the bus, are you?”

“Why not? I’ve been doing it since I got here.” she leaned forward a bit. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

He nodded to his left.

“Come. I’ll drive you.”

“No way, José! I don’t even know you that well.”

“Gattina, you let me finger you after knowing me for less than five minutes.”

They kept their silence, staring each other down, Lysandra internally cursed the heat that rose to her cheeks.

She stood up, hastily walking around the car.

“Fine.”

He leaned forward and opened the door, his shit-eating grin as annoying as it was attractive, but then again, Lysandra suspected that those feelings were always mixed with Antony.

“You know, it’s kinda far from here.”

“All the more reason to take you.” was his answer as he pressed on the gas.

She didn’t tell him where to. He had sent someone over to deliver a present already, so he probably knew where she lived.

“Why were you taking a bus?” he asked, his arm coming around her headrest.

His eyes were on the road, but when she shifted in her seat, they deviated to her for a moment.

“We have two cars, and papa always takes one to work.”she shuddered. “Maman took the other today.”

“You don’t have your own car?”

She shook her head.

“Do you know how to drive?”

This time, she felt how even the tips of her ears turned red.

“Well,...papa certainly tried to teach me.”

“But?” he asked, the amusement clear in his voice even though he hadn’t heard the story yet.

“We were in this empty parking lot,...and I almost got us killed.”

His laughter filled the small space, and despite her shame, she enjoyed the sound, just barely rough and deep enough to be considered ‘manly’.

“How did that happen?”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the seat.

“It’s not relevant. How about you? When did you learn?”

He stopped at a red light.

“I was around twelve, I believe.”

Her eyes almost fell out of their sockets.

“Twelve?”

Antony shrugged, dismissing it.

“One can get away with many things when unsupervised.”

They spent a few minutes in silence. Lysandra wanted to ask more, both curious and worried about what he had just said, but she bit her tongue, deciding it’d probably be inappropriate, at least for now.

His fingers brushed the back of her neck, and she had the suspicion that this time, his touch was unconscious. It made her more nervous than those times in which he deliberately put his hands on her.

“I never got the chance to tell you,” he spoke quietly, regaining her immediate attention. “but you played beautifully the other night.”when he saw her baffled expression, he added. “I’m talking about the First Lady’s birthday party.”

She nodded, remembering the event.

Shortly after sneaking out of the bathroom, her mother had found her and took her to the ballroom, telling her how the birthday woman was eager to listen to her.

She had seen Antony looking at her throughout the entirety of the piece, and it had made her so nervous she screwed up twice. She masked it well enough, and after that she went outside to annoy her brother, needing something to distract her of the memory of his lips and hands on her body.

The fact that she later saw him through the windows more than once with his wife by his side didn’t bring in the guilt bug she had been expecting.

If anything, she felt slightly jealous.

“Thanks.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“Piano?”she tried to think about it. “I’m not sure. Maman started to teach me when I was little, and when I surpassed her, she got me a tutor. Then I added the cello.”

He rose his eyebrows.

“Wait a minute; how many instruments do you play?”

“Play for real?”she counted with her fingers.“four that I can play, and I know the technique of another two.”

“Fucking hell, gattina. Where did you get the time for all that?”

“I’m not sure.”she confessed, smiling brightly at him and sitting straight. “I’m going to be an orchestra director.”

“And how long does that take?”

She winced, but kept the smile in place.

“Long.”

He gave her a quick look, taking her chin between his fingers and kissing her smiling lips.

“You must really want it, then.”

“Yeah, I do.”she answered softly, caught off-guard.

She leaned against the seat again, watching him intently as he drove. What exactly did this man want from her? A one-night stand? A fuck buddy? Or did he actually wanted to be with her?

He wanted her, that much as plain, but for how long?

What of his wife? Surely he wasn’t going to leave her for a woman he had met less than a month ago.

Biting her lip, she leaned forward once more, placing her hand on his knee. He looked at her, one eyebrow raised, swallowing thickly at the look on her face.

“How badly do you want me?” she asked, her hand squeezing his knee and inching up.

“What?”

“How bad?”

He looked down at her hand and she reached higher, taking him in her hand and pressing, finding the sound he made to be most arousing.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, gattina.”he warned, but made no attempt at moving her hand.

She decided to kick her morals out the window for a few hours. She would just take one bite, just one taste of the fruit should be enough.

_ “No, it won’t” _ a small voice whispered in her head.

Lysandra stared at him, not quite believing what she was saying, but at the same time doing so.

“Take me somewhere.”

Antony arched an eyebrow, his expression slightly cautious, but mostly clouded.

“Where to?”

She shrugged.

“Anywhere.”

His hands gripped the wheel with a hold of steel, and when the light changed, he sped up, eyes intently on the road as she watched him, realising him of her touch and leaning back.

Was this really happening? Was she really becoming that type of person?

He took a turn to the right and she recognized the street. Of course, the french embassy was nearby, just a few streets away.

They both got out, but Antony stopped her before entering the place.

“I’ll go ahead, just in case.”

She let him go, crossing her arms to fight the chill of the night, the wind blowing against her back, hair obstructing her vision. 

She looked to the right. She could very well leave Antony there and walk to the embassy, pick up her dad and go home to pretend nothing had happened.

She probably should do just that, but she wasn’t very known for her intelligence those days.

He came back, taking her hand but realising it almost immediately, as if her touch had burned him.

“What were you doing there?”

“Ensuring discretion.”

She really didn’t want to know what he meant by that.

With one last look to her right, she marched in, leaving her principles on the car and going straight for the elevator.

Lysandra didn’t look around her, didn’t take in the aspect of the hotel. It could have been a dumpster, or someone could have been murdered right as she walked by, but she wouldn’t have noticed.

Antony walked besides her, close enough that she could feel his body heat but far enough away to no touch each other. He allowed her to get in the elevator first and followed, pressing the number 3 both of them waited, watching the red numbers changing ever so slowly.

Maybe the elevator would break and she would die suffocated. Maybe it’d be for the best.

The door opened and they stepped out with one long stride, heading for the second room and waiting for him to open up, her hands shaking in anticipation.

Antony opened the door and she walked in, eyeing the closed, grey curtains and then the neatly made bed, the covers of the same colour but a lighter shade.

The soft click of the door being closed bought her back to reality, and she came back to her body, now fully aware of the extent of her actions so far.

Antony walked into the room, his eyes set on her, and Lysandra stood her ground, wanting him to close the distance.

Antony got rid of his jacket and tie, such a simple action as pulling a piece of fabric over his head unbelievingly appealing to the french woman.

He looked her up and down, from her simple black hoodie, her old jeans, her converse and back up. She imagined she wasn’t the embodiment of  a sex goddess that night, but his eyes were as hungry as all the other times he had seen her wearing those provocative gowns.

His dark eyes found hers again.

“Take off your clothes.” he said, the command clear even if he hadn’t raised his voice.

Without her permission, her owns hands flew to the zipper of the hoodie, pulling it down and letting it fall to the floor.

She kicked off her shoes, hands wrapping around the hem of her tank top and pulling it up, throwing it across the room. She then paused for a moment, and Antony nodded once, not making attempt to approach her.

“Go on.”

Again with a mind of their own, her hands unclipped her bra, and she watched closely as his gaze lowered for just a moment, forcing himself to stare at her face instead.

Taking the bra off was a relief, but she felt almost nervous as her hands lowered to the button of her jeans.

Taking in a deep breath, Lysandra proceeded, pushing the fabric down her legs and kicking it aside, resisting the urge of looking for something to cover herself with.

Finally, Antony’s eyes began their journey down, taking her in with such a speed one would think he had all the time in the world. He smirked.

“No underwear, eh?” he pushed himself off the wall, approaching with a gleam in his eyes and an intent in his step that sent shivers up her spine “Naughty girl.”

She looked up just as he looked down, her breath coming up labouriosly and he wasn’t even touching her.

Her hands reached up but he knock it down with his own, finally indulging them both with a fiery kiss. His arms snuck around her, keeping her own trapped as they fought for dominance.

Lysandra struggled, moving until he released her, and then she pushed him back against the wall, kissing him again, her hands pulling at his short hair. She bit his lip lightly, trying once again to be the one in charge.

Antony indulged for a few moments, his hands viciously exploring her naked back and gripping her ass, pushing her up until she could wrap her legs around him, her arms coming around his shoulders.

She ended the kiss to take a breath, and he looked up at her.

“Are you always so eager? Or is it that I’m  _ so _ irresistible?”

She gave him a slightly confused look.

“Uh?”

He chuckled, walking towards the bed, one of his fingers lightly running across her folds. Lysandra yelped.

“You’re already soaked, gattina.”

Any other day, she would’ve rolled her eyes and made him aside, but this time, she let him place her on the bed, wrapping her arms around him as he laid over her.

His hands abandoned her to unbutton his shirt, and she hurriedly pushed it off his shoulders, hands coming up, nails scraping the skin.

He sucked on her neck, his hands tracing the curves from her hips, up her waist, and gripping her breasts, massaging them until she arched her back, a breathless moan coming through her swollen lips.

She ran her hands down his back, slipping them under his pants, squeezing his ass, pushing him up against her center. He groaned against her skin, biting her shoulder as one hand took care of his belt, the other sneaking underneath the fabric again, wrapping itself around his member and stroking slowly, trying to be rid of the pants by pushing them down with her own legs.

She instantly missed Antony’s weight over her as he stood on the edge of the bed, quickly getting rid of the rest of his clothes. She crawled to him, licking her lips and anticipation, and delicately sat in front of him, her legs falling at each side of his, his erection practically on her face.

Lysandra looked up, slowly inching forwards and even slower, letting the tip of her tongue travel from his base to his tip.

Antony gave her a look of warning and she giggled, playing around with his tip before closing her lips around it, carefully sucking for a moment before pulling back again.

“Lysandra…”

She didn’t give him what he wanted, and instead ran her tongue across the shaft once more. Now what  _ she  _ desired was for him to take what he wanted.

One of her hands started to play around with his sack, and when her tongue made it back to the tip, he gripped her hair with both hands and pushed her head forward, forcing her to take him in her mouth.

She fought against instinct and relaxed her throat, one hand still playing with his sack, the other stroking what her mouth couldn’t take.

Antony kept her head in place, the grip on her hair almost painful as he fucked her face, his eyes closed and lips parted.

She kept her own eyes on him, the sight making her ache even more, but resisted the temptation of touching herself. Something told her Antony would prefer to do that himself.

He pushed her back for a second and she drew in a deep breath, happily accepting the kiss he gave her.

He left one hand on her hair, the other going down to stroke her nub, making her whimper.

“Tell me, gattina; what do you want?”

She kept her mouth shut, and he pulled at her curls. She gasped as he lowered them down on the bed again.

His weight fell on her once more, heavy, hot and absolutely crushing her in a delicious way. His dick brushed against her wet folds, and when she moved her hips, he pulled back, his face merely inches from hers.

“No. Tell me. What do you want?”

He kept his teasing going, and she met his eyes in silent provocation.

“I want you to fuck,...me aah!”

He abruptly buried himself inside her to the hilt, right before she could finish her sentence. She gasped and he groaned, remaining still for a few seconds, letting her adjust.

“Fuck woman, you really are tight.”he muttered, his teeth pulling at her earlobe before kissing the sensitive spot right behind it.

She spread her legs further, kissing him with abandon as he began to move, slow but aggressively, pulling out almost entirely before plunging back in.

Antony let go of her hair, using both hands to support his weight as he looked down at the place where their bodies joined.

He kept his pace, stopping all together every time Lysandra tried to accelerate him, a devilish smile on place when she complained, only to make her moan the next second.

She clung to him, completely unaware of the passing time. Very well it could have been minutes or hours, but both remained ignorant, too engrossed in their dance.

Gradually, Antony’s movements gained speed, and the violence of them grew with it.

Lysandra arched her back as he played around with a nipple, releasing it with a small ‘bop’ before moving to the other for a few moments, pulling back up again to watch her twisting underneath him.

She felt something pulsing within her, the heat on her lower body threatening to consume her.

“Aah, Antony…”

He moved with more urgency, her legs coming up to his waist.

“That’s it, gattina.” he muttered, placing his hands on the bedpost for better support. “Cum now.”

And cum she did, crying out his name and arching her back, the all consuming release expanding throughout her entire body, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

“Good girl.” she thought she heard him mutter in her ear, his own movements now erratic.

Just a few more strokes after, Antony went rigid above her, groaning through his teeth as he spilled inside of her.

Lysandra watched him captivated, and then wrapped her arms around him when he collapsed on her, kissing her way from his shoulder, to his neck and up to his cheek.

Antony turned his head, his nose almost touching hers as his hand came up and made her hair aside. He stroke her cheek slowly and she watched him, briefly closing her eyes when he leaned forward to kiss her lazily.

The kissing continued, being complimented with a few feather-like caresses, and growing in eagerness and urgency until soon enough they were hungry again.

He let go of her and Lysandra opened her eyes, panting. Antony stared into her eyes for a moment, and then he took her by the waist and sat her up on his lap, burying himself inside of her again.

* * *

At some point, Lysandra woke up. She was laying on her side, head against Antony’s chest, legs entwined and his arms around her.

Without really thinking of it, she kissed his chest, her hands moving up and down his back.

Antony awoke, and took her leg in his hand, pulling it up and around his hips, still half asleep as he entered her again.

They breathed softly at the sensation of being united again, and took the other to a climax with lazy moves.

He fell back against the pillows and Lysandra followed, finding that he made for a good pillow.

They fell asleep again.

* * *

When morning came, Lysandra woke reluctantly, her eyes fluttering as they tried to adjust to the room.

For one terrifying moment, she didn’t recognize her surroundings, but then the events of the previous night came back to the front of her mind, and she became aware of the delicious ache between her legs.

Smiling satisfied with herself, she turned and stretched, noticing that she was alone in the bed.

The cluttering sound of an utensils being placed on a surface caught her attention, and to her right she saw Antony, half dressed, sitting down in front of a small, round table, a big tray in front of him. He was checking something on his phone as he took a sip from his coffee, his brow furrowed.

She sat up, pulling the sheet around her body and drawing his attention for a brief moment. The corners of his mouth lifted, but then he was back on his phone, immersed in his own world.

“What time is it?”she asked slowly, trying to get a clue through the curtains, which were still in place, blocking all light from the world.

“A bit over six.”he said, casually patting the empty chair by his side. “Come, eat something.”

She did as he said, almost tripping with the comforter that laid on the floor, pulling the sheets tighter around her shoulders. She was almost certain Antony saw her, but he covered his mouth with the coffee cup.

The distance between the bed and the table wasn’t big by any means, but she had to pause for a moment after taking the first step, the pain between her legs taking her off-guard. She composed her face and advanced, thinking of dead kittens as she sat down.

“Too sore, are we?”

Of course the bastard noticed anyway.

She took some bread and peach marmalade.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One would think you’ve never been properly fucked before.”

Lysandra huffed, thinking of how it was too early for his cockiness.

“Wouldn’t you love it if it were so.”

He gave her a quick, playful look over his phone, lightly kicking her leg.

“No matter. You’ll get used to it.”

She chewed slowly, not knowing how to answer.

Get used to it? Did that mean that he wanted to have her again? She thought that, maybe, if they slept together once, he’d be satisfied enough to leave her alone.

But did she wanted to be with him again?...Of course she did; she just expected -and hoped to be wrong- him to be the one to put a stop to their little affair.

Surely he took notice of her sudden silence, but made no comment on it, leaving her to her own thoughts and musings as she slowly ate, eyes fixed on the curtain in front of her.

So she had a taste of the apple, and now she wanted the whole fruit.

One might say, she was royally screwed.

* * *

Antony insisted on driving her home, and after just a minute of arguing, she relented, secretly glad for the extra time together.

He drove fast, and even though she was a tad disappointed about their night coming to an end, she understood his job took up a great deal of his time.

Lysandra asked him to stop a few blocks away from her neighborhood, and uncertain on how to proceed, she turned to him, opening her mouth and closing it again, and then repeating the action, looking more like a fish by the minute.

He turned to look at her.

“I don’t have your phone number.”he said simply.

She arched an eyebrow.

“I’m surprised. Don’t you have people who can get it for you?”

“Well, yes, but I’d prefer to get it from you.”

Feeling silly on the inside again, she quickly gave him her new number, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek in farewell. Antony tried to catch her lips with his, but she moved away quickly, the mischief coming back to her orbs.

“Now, I don’t want you to tire of me too quickly.”

He chuckled, letting her go, the car still parked as she walked away.

Lysandra placed her hands in her pockets and felt her phone vibrating. She bit her lip, checking for whoever had texted her.

**You look nice walking away.**

She rose her middle finger, not bothering to look back.

Despite the early hour, the sun shone brightly, and it was already starting to burn her back as she hurried back home, hastily greeting the guards at the gate as she slipped inside, passing in front of the houses of her neighbors.

She was relieved to see that both her parents were gone, for she hadn’t really thought about an excuse for the hour.

The door was open, so she quietly made her way inside, not wanting to alert anybody.

Producing as little sound as she was capable, she closed the door, holding her breath as it clicked shut.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

__  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**The Other Woman**

**Part V**

  
  


 

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Cingerix stood in front of her with his arms crossed, a little smile smile on his stupid face as he looked her up and down.

“You look like shit.”

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked, ignoring his comments.

Subtly, she looked behind him, scared of being wrong and getting caught by her parents.

“Don’t worry, they left a while ago.” he said approaching her, his index finger against his chin. “If I had to take a guess, you were with that old guy from the party.”

She blinked. How did he know?”

“I have no clue…”

“Oh, please!” he breathed, enjoying the circumstances. “Don’t lie to me, especially after I covered for you with maman and papa.”

She eyed him warily, whishing, not for the first time, to be an only child.

“What did you say?”

He shrugged.

“That you were practicing Dvorak.”

“You know who Dvorak was?” 

“After a lifetime sharing a roof with you, I picked up a few things.” he smiled again. “So, how are you gonna buy my silence?”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sure papa would love a call from me.”he mused, taking his phone out of his pocket.

Lysandra jumped, taking the device from his hands. 

“Don’t you dare!”

His little smile was still in place, and god give her strength she wanted to strangle him.

She pondered. Would he really tell their parents? Probably. And then she’d be in trouble, her dad would be royally pissed and her mother disappointed.

There was nothing more than a disappointed Delphinia, the shattered expression on her face was something both her children and husband dreaded.

And did she want to cause Antony trouble?...Well yes, but the fun kind.

“I’ll do your math homework for a month.”

“A semester.”

“Trimester.”

“Fine. And you’ll take me on a tour of the city.”he pointed at her. “We’ll go whenever I want, wherever I want, and you’ll like it.”

“If I weren’t the subject of your extortions I’d be proud.”

* * *

  
  


For his birthday, Cingerix wanted to go see the football match between Italy and England, and after a call or two, their dad had gotten tickets on the vip box, and Lysandra couldn’t be more anxious.

Her eyes had found Antony the second she entered. He was on his phone, absently nodding to something his wife was saying while a small kid, no older than seven or eight, played with an action figure.

Cingerix narrowed his eyes at her but didn’t say anything, rushing to his seat while her parents greeted a few people.

Lysandra just stood there, no knowing what to do. Glancing back at her parents, she made the quick decision of following Cingerix and taking the seat next to his. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Antony looking up and zeroing in on her, giving her a quick once-over. She did her best to ignore his presence.

Her brother was practically bouncing in anticipation, hands clenched into fists on his knees.

“Wanna make a bet?” he asked, looking at the pitch below.

“No.”

He huffed. “Fine.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms, wishing time would fly by.

She dared to risk a small glance to her left, but Antony wasn’t on his seat anymore. She tried to spy behind her.

Next to her, Cingerix snorted.

“He’s talking to some old guy near the door.”he said in a low voice. “And still looking at you, like a creep.”

“I wasn’t…”

He turned to her, and she shut her mouth.

His wife wasn’t in sight, thankfully, but the small boy was still in the same place as before, moving his action figure up, pretending the doll could fly.

So, that was clearly his son. They had the same dark eyes and despite the sweetness of his features, she could tell he’d probably grow up to be the  mirror image of Antony.

Her phone vibrated.

**Looking ravishing as always, I see.**

She bit her lip, trying not to smile as a sense of warmth spread through her stomach. Her fingers ghosted over the screen. Should she answer?

“God, you’re disgusting.” her brother muttered, checking the expression on her face.

She gave him a shove, locking the screen.

The memory of their brief encounter that very same morning had her moving in her seat, eager for another repeat.

They had been meeting in secret for several days now, usually more than once, and it seemed to her that she wasn’t about to have enough of him anytime soon. Luckly, her feelings were reciprocated, seeing as Antony could barely keep his hands off her, always looking for a reason to touch her.

The man had stamina, that was for sure, and Lysandra was glad that it was summer and she didn’t have much to do, otherwise she feared she wouldn’t be able to keep up.

The kid playing near her ran past, his action figure in the air, then tripped and fell face down.

Lysandra was on her feet instantly, reaching out for him and helping him out.

“You ok there, little dude?”

The kid nodded sheepishly, looking down at his feet, his little hands softly running over his pants.

Lysandra knelt before him.

“Does it hurt?”

He nodded again, lips trembling as he wept softly.

She took out a handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to him.

“Here.”

The kid took it and wiped his eyes, shyly looking up at her smiling face.

“Grazie.”he muttered under his breath.

Her smile grew and she accommodated herself on the carpeted floor, pointing at the action figure laying on the ground.

“Who’s that?”

He gave her an odd look.

“Batman.”

Lysandra blinked.

“Who?”

“Oh my god! You’re a disgrace.”Cingerix muttered under his breath, leaping out of his seat and taking the place next to her. “He’s one of the coolest heroes out there.”

“Like Captain America.”

The boy tilted his head, shaking fervently, and her brother placed his hand on his forehead, eyes going so far back into his head it looked like one of those possessed people in horror movies.

“What do you learn in school, Lysa?”

She rolled her eyes, hiding her amusement as best as she could.

“I’m sorry. I’m too busy to keep up with comics.”

This time, her brother imitated her actions.

“Yeah, yeah.” he cleared his throat and forced his voice into a high falsetto “Look at me, I’m so smart! I play piano and instruments people don’t know the name of! Ha, ha, ha! I’m so smart!”

“I don’t talk like that.”

“That’s my perception.”

The boy was looking at her, his lips parted.

“You play piano?”he asked slowly, in awe.

Lysandra gave her brother a smug look.

“Why, yes. Do you play an instrument?”

He shook his head, placing the action figure against his chest.

“No, but I wanna learn piano. People at my school said I need to play one instrument and I really, really, really wanna learn piano. Like Bugs Bunny!”

“Alex!”Antony’s grave voice rang out through the space as he approached, hands on the pockets of his jeans. Lysandra looked him up and down, this being the first time she saw him dressed so casually “Come back here; don’t bother them.”

Lysandra smiled at him.

“Oh, he’s not a bother. We’re just getting to know each other.” she looked towards the boy, Alex, who nodded eagerly, clutching his action figure tighter. “He was telling me how he wants to learn piano.”

An idea began to take form in her head, and she smiled slowly, like the Cheshire cat. Antony eyed her carefully.

“Yes. I’ve been looking for a teacher.”

She pointed at herself.

“I could do it! I’m free for the summer.”

Antony’s eyes sparkled, his thoughts on the same track as hers apparently.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“It’s no trouble at all. It’d be my pleasure.”

Her heart was racing as they both looked at Alex, who seemed hopeful.

“What do you think, kid?” his father asked, lightly balancing on the back of his feet.

Alex looked at her.

“R-really?”

“Yeah! You’ll love it, little dude! Promise.”

Alex then looked at his father, sporting an adorable, dimpled smile and nodded.

“It’s settled then. When can he start?”

She pretended to think about it for a moment, the eagerness in the boy’s face absolutely adorable.

“I say tomorrow.”

Alex’s face lit up like a christmas tree, and the french woman felt the need to pinch his cheeks.

“Alexander! What are you doing on the floor?!”

Antony’s wife walked around him, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling him up. Her husband rolled his eyes.

“A little bit of dirt won’t kill the boy, Fulvia.”

“Mommy, the nice lady’s gonna teach me music!”

They made eye contact for the first time, and the first thing that came to Lysandra’s mind was how just a few hours earlier, her husband had fucked her senseless in the back of his car. She briefly wondered if he was so,... _ passionate _ with her as well.

Swallowing down her jealousy, she offered her hand, not wanting to kiss her cheeks.

“I’m Lysandra, Lysandra Subercaseaux; my father’s the new french ambassador.” she pointed to her brother, who was still sitting on the floor next to her, watching everything unfold with wide eyes. “He’s my brother, Cingerix.”

Fulvia blinked.

“Excuse me, could you repeat that? I didn’t catch it with that horrid accent.”

_ “The only horrid thing here is your face, bitch.” _

Still smiling, Lysandra opened her mouth, but Antony stepped forward, placing a hand on his wife’s arm.

“Come now, let’s go.”

They turned to go back to their places, little Alex waving at her and Cingerix with his hand. Antony stayed for a moment.

“We’ll talk about a schedule after the game.”

“Can’t wait.”

The siblings remained in the floor for a few moments.

Cingerix coughed.

“Slut.”

* * *

 

Halfway through the second half of the game, Lysandra couldn’t help herself. She quickly told her father that Geoff was calling and she needed to step outside for a few minutes, and was dismissed without much thought, her family’s attention solely on the game below.

She reached the door and looked back, hoping to catch Antony’s eye. He was talking to the same man from before, but his eyes were trained on her. She nodded towards the door and disappeared through it, walking quickly down the hall.

She heard the door opening once more and accelerated, ignoring Antony’s call.

Taking a right, she skipped down a set of stairs, still making no attempt of waiting for him. 

She heard him cursing somewhere near and giggled, rushing down an empty hallway and taking another turn, opening the first door she saw.

Lysandra turned on the light, discovering a closet for cleaning supplies.

A body crashed against her back, pushing her in, arms wrapping around her waist, lips on her neck as she collided against a shelf.

Antony closed the door and she turned around, taking a small jump and wrapping her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders, kissing him sloppily.

He pressed her up against the shelf, something digging into her side but quickly forgotten as he undid his belt and pushed his pants down, clumsily hiking up her short skirt and making her underwear aside, thrusting up into her.

She moaned into his ear, her hands reaching blindly for something to hold on to as he moved with his characteristic belligerence, one hand pulling a fistfull of curls as the other pressed against the shelf, keeping them up.

She came quickly, but Antony kept on moving.

Lysandra held onto him, feeling another orgasm building up with great speed, and moaned loudly as Antony bit her shoulder when they both reached their peak.

She leaned back against the shelf, legs still wrapped around him. Antony was panting, holding her up firmly as he smiled at her.

“We didn’t get interrupted this time.”she said, completely at ease with the possibility of being caught with his cock still inside of her.

“Our luck is changing.” he said, kissing her briefly.

Gently, he set her down on the floor, pulled up his pants and knelt in front of her, ignoring her confused look as he produced his own handkerchief and cleaned her up softly.

“Tell me,”he started, throwing the piece of cloth on some corner and getting on his feet, towering over her as she fixed her skirt. “why did you offer the lessons for Alex?”

She shrugged, casually straightening up his shirt.

“Out of the goodness of my heart.” he snorted and she gave him a light punch on his shoulder. Antony caught her arm and yanked, pressing her up against his chest and placing his lips on hers, kissing her softly.

“Sure you did, gattina.”

“Besides, someone will have to take him and pick him up.”

He seemed baffled, but also a bit impressed.

“Are you using my  _ son  _ as an excuse to see me?”

She nodded once, and he held her tighter.

“Sly gattina.” he congratulated her, talking in between kisses. “A woman after my own heart.”

* * *

 

**Translation time!**

**Italian:**

Grazie-Thank you.

Gattina- Kitten.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**The Other Woman**

**Part VI**

 

When she arrived home that night, Lysandra went straight to her room and into her closet, from where she took out an unopened box with her old music books, some of which had belonged to her own mother.

Was she really about to teach music to the son of the man she was sneaking around with? It seemed like it. Antony and her had talked about a schedule after they had returned from the cleaning supplies closet. They waited, of course, so that nobody would notice their timing, and he intercepted her right as the game was coming to a close.

She suggested to have him over for an hour twice a week, not wanting to tire Alex too much. Kids tended to get bored of their instruments when they were thrown into them with too much intensity; well, it hadn’t been the case with Lysandra -as a child, she could never get enough of her music, even the theory most people dreaded- but she wasn’t the epitome of normal.

She had never really thought anybody, except Cingerix, who got bored after two weeks, but she could ask her mother. She did have a teaching degree, and she had also been the one to instruct Lysandra during her first three years of musical education. After those years, the mother had nothing more she could teach and they couldn’t afford a tutor, so Lysandra practiced on her own for another four years.

Of course, when she did got a tutor, he had to fixed her technique and correct a few bad habits she had developed, but she didn’t let that set her back, and instead pushed harshly, always wanting to be the best. It wasn’t until she was almost twelve that she decided to ask for another instrument, and then another, and another, and then she decided she would be an orchestra director.

“HA!”

She smiled triumphant upon finding her very first book, and quickly scanned it over, chuckling to herself as she remembered those times in which she found the pieces she was now looking at to be impossible to play.

She got up and walked to her desk, her intention that of making a copy of the first pieces for Alex. She could just lend him her book, but it was very old, and it wouldn’t survive with a six year old.

Someone knocked on her door, and she rose her eyes to see her father coming in. She smiled.

“You look tired.”

Victus nodded, looking around at the bare, sage green walls. Back in France, Lysandra’s old bedroom was so full of pictures, posters and drawings made by Mariette that one couldn’t see the colour underneath.

“I am.” he placed his fingers on the edge of the wooden desk. “Listen, I saw you talking to Conti today. What was that about?”

It took her a second to realize he meant Antony.

“Oh, nothing.” she waved with her hand, looking down at the book and passing the page, checking the machine for paper. “I met his son and we talked a bit. Turns out he needs to learn an instrument for his school or something like that, so I offered to teach him. Why?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her dad shaking his head, sighing heavily.

“It’s nothing. I just mean, that’s nice of you.”

“But?”

“But I don’t think is a good idea.”

She nodded, finally making the copies.

“Why?”

“I’m sure the kid is great, cherry, but is the father I’m worried about.”

She fought back her body, making an effort of not tensing up.

“Why?”

Victus hesitated.

“C’mon, papa, I’m not a kid. Besides, I always tell you everything, so it’s only fair that you do the same.”

_Well, almost everything._

She swallowed back the guilt.

“You should’ve been a lawyer.” he smiled, softly knocking on the wood a few times. “Well, the man came out of nothing, basically, and rose very high.”

“What do you mean, ‘he came from nothing’?

“Only that his family was very low-class and problematic, and nobody expected him to get out of there.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she frowned, organizing the papers and clipping them together. “I thought grandpa and grandma were poor too.”

Her father hadn’t been born into politics. His mother was a seamstress, and his father worked in the flower fields of Grasse, the city that was commonly known as the capital of perfume. Her dad had two brothers and a sister. His sister was a school teacher, and had been the one to introduce Delphinia to Victus. One of his brothers was a factory worker, the other,...he didn’t have a happy ending, and nobody talked about him.

Lysandra was sure her father felt somewhat responsible for that one brother, and even though she was sure that it wasn’t like that, she never voiced it out loud; Victus was quite sensible regarding that man.

Despite the heights to which Victus rose, he didn’t turn his back on his family. Until the day they died, he took care of his parents; made sure they never needed anything. He tried to do the same with his sister, but the woman was as stubborn as they come, and the only time she accepted any sort of help was when she had to sent her daughter to study engineering to Paris. Her father had been more than happy when she allowed him to pay the girl’s studies. His other brother had a rougher time; his wife had left him with three little kids, two of them were now Lycée students, and the other was homeschooled due to his leukemia. Victus sent him a check every month, and even tried to convince his brother of letting him hire some help for the house, but there was so much of his pride Lysandra’s uncle could swallow.

Lysandra suspected that, were it in his power, Victus would help out every single distant relative they had. He always made sure his children knew where he had come from, and that they knew there was no shame on it. Hell, Lysandra herself had memories from when times were rough, and his career was barely setting off to a rocky, uphill start, which was why it surprised her to hear him talking about Antony in such a way.

Surely, if they had so much in common, Victus wouldn’t have that despising look on his face.

“No, cherry, you misunderstand me.”he corrected softly, clearly tired from the day’s events. “It’s not his background what I don’t approve of, it’s the way he climbed up.”

She opened her drawer and produced and empty book with pentagrams.

“How did he do it?”

“There’s,...it’s never been proven but people talk and,...let’s just say he…”

“Didn’t play fair?”

“We can say it like that, if you want.”

“You think he’s corrupt.”

“Look me in the eyes, Lysa, and tell me you think him incapable.”

She could very easily see Antony selling his soul to the devil, but she couldn’t break her father’s heart by telling him that maybe the means justified the end. He tried very hard to raise them in the opposite way, and to know it hadn’t worked on her would no doubt, be a huge disappointment.”

Instead, she shrugged, casually putting everything together.

“I don’t know, papa, we only talked to coordinate the lessons for Alex.” she pointed to the door he was blocking. “Which reminds me, I need to get downstairs and prepare for tomorrow.”

Victus moved back into the hallway, pensive.

“Lysa?”

She turned to him, clutching the book to her chest.

“Yes?”

“Just, keep it professional, will you? And if he says anything to you, or tries anything….”

“I’ll tell you.” she lied smoothly.

* * *

 

The next afternoon, she opened the door to find the same man who had delivered the roses no more than a few weeks before, standing next to a nervous looking Alex. The kid was clearly trying to decide between looking at her and at the ground, his little hands gripping the stripes of his blue backpack.

She messed with his brown hair, smiling.

“Hey, little dude! Are you ready?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I got orange juice and gum. Want some?” he asked, shyly offering up a wrapped mint gum.

She didn’t really eat gum, but took it anyway.

“Why, thank you!”

Alex smiled, the dimples showing again.

She looked up at the man.

“Mr.Conti will pick him up in an hour.”

He nodded to them both and left. Lysandra shared a look with Alex.

“Is he always like that?”

“One time, dad made him smile and I got really, really scared.”

Lysandra snorted, offering him her hand, which he took.

“C’mon, let’s get started.”

Slowly, she guided him to the music room, trying not to smile at the look of sheer curiosity on his face as he took everything in, from the big, white staircase, to the flower arrangements, and the few paintings that hung on the wall. They all were landscapes, something Lysandra and her mother shared affection for.

“I like the doors.” he said, pointing at the doors to the music room and her father’s study.

“Yes, they have cool arches, don’t they?”

Alex nodded, and Lysandra tried to remember the last time she heard a child complimenting a door.

She allowed him to enter her music room first, and admired his marvelled face as he set his dark eyes on the big, brown grand piano, resting proudly in the middle of the room.

Jesus, he was adorable.

“Wow! Look at that piano! Wow! Look at the harp!” he kept looking around “Wow! That’s a big violin!”

Usually, when people got the names of the instruments wrong, Lysandra felt slightly insulted, but with him it was funny, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s called a cello. The sound is more,...eh, grave than the one the violin makes.”

“So that one doesn’t sound like a baby crying?”

She laughed again, placing her hands on his shoulders and helping him take the backpack off, guiding him to the piano.

“No. The sound is lower.”

“Like a gorilla?”

“...You know what? If you’re a good student, we’ll take a break and I’ll play something for you.”

“Cool!”

She sat on the stool and patted the empty space next to her, where Alex took a seat. He looked at the keys with wonder.

“Go ahead. Play something.”

His cheeks turned pink.

“I don’t know how.”he practically whispered.

“That’s not important. Just touch some keys, get a feel of the instrument. See?” for demonstration, she ran her fingers over a few keys at random. “Go on, it’s ok.”

He looked up and down, and pressed down on one of the higher keys, taking off his hand so quickly one might think he got burned.

“That’s great, little dude! Go ahead, try another!”

He did as she said, and Lysandra allowed him a few minutes to get comfortable with the instrument, letting him fool around and see how he liked it before boring him with the lesson.

He was like a kid on a candy store, greedily playing one note after the other, wanting to touch everything at the same time, a wide smile on his face, giggling in delight from time to time.

She rose her hand and placed it over his.

“Ok, that was very good, Alex.” she sat straight and placed her hands over the keys, not quite touching them. “Now, try to do this.”

He sat straight and put his hands over the keys, fingers twitching in anticipation.

“Good, but try to put your hands like mine. Like a spider.”

“I don’t like spiders.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, little dude, but have you seen how they look? Great! Put your hands like that.”

Alex tried to mold his hands, and Lysandra helped him, placing her arms around him and taking both hands, massaging the palms.

“Relax, relax. Spidy hands. Relax, otherwise you’ll hurt your hands. That’s it! That’s great. Now, keep the position and heeere,” she instructed, placing his thumb over the central do. “do this.”

One octave down, she slowly played the first five notes, from do to sol, making it a point to show him how each finger was raised before playing the next note. Alex tried to imitate her, his fingers moving sloppily.

“How did you know this was do?” he asked, trying to find the note.

She smiled, placing her finger on the correct key.

“See how we have three black keys here, but two here?” he nodded quickly. “All the dos are the white key right before the two blacks.”

“Ooooh!”

“Cool, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Ok, let’s play the fifth again. Spidey hands first. Very good! Aaaaand we’ll go together with do, re,...good, mi…”

* * *

 

The doorbell rang, and while Lysandra left Alex alone to pack his things, she went to answer. Somewhere in the second floor, Cingerix could be heard shouting at his video games.

She opened, her smile widening when she saw Antony waiting on the other side. He was checking something on his phone, and he looked in desperate need of a nap, but when he looked up and smiled, the lines of worry on his face seemed to disappear, and his eyes shone a bit brighter.

The butterflies didn’t make themselves wait.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine, really. We both learned a lot. I played the cello for him.”

“You played…? Of course you can play that as well.”

Looking over her shoulder, Antony made sure nobody was coming, and quickly grabbed her by the back of her neck and kissed her. She let her arms sneak underneath his jacket and feel the muscles on his back, sighing into his lips.

“I’ve thought of you all day.”

She smiled into the kiss.

“Good.”

With one last peck, she parted, putting some necessary distance between them. Antony smiled, catching a strand of hair and placing it behind her ear.

“So, how was he?”

Lysandra smiled, hearing Alex’s hurried footsteps in the music room.

“He’s great! We had a lot of fun.”

Just in time, the door opened and Alex came running through it, a wide smile on his face, his little hands clutching the papers Lysandra had given him.

“Dad! Dad, look! I played this and this one, and this one too!”

He almost fell on his face on the way, stopping next to her and holding the sheets up, a proud, eager smile on his face.

Antony frowned, looking at the succession of notes.

“I have no idea what any of that means, but well done!”

“Daaaaaad! This is easy!”

Lysandra ruffled his hair.

“Don’t sweat it, little dude. Only the smartest know how to read pentagrams.”

He gave her a devilish smirk that was almost identical to his father’s.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, dad. This is only for smart people.”

Antony rose an eyebrow, looking between the two.

“I feel attacked.”

“Listen,” Lysandra rolled her eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “Does he have something to work with at home?”

Alex smile fell, but Antony grew a small one.

“I was hoping to go pick something today.”

“Really?!”

Lysandra nodded, considering.

“An electric one might be for the best, at least for now. We’ll have to see how serious he is about it.”

“Very!” insisted Alex, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“Well, since he knows very little and I know nothing, why don’t you come with us?”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if he was or not being serious.

“What?”

“How do I know I’m being sold something good? I need a connoisseur.”

“Yes! Lizzie, please! Come with us!”

She bit her lip.

“That almost sounded like french.” she told him, looking down at Alex and pinching his cheek. “Ok, let me go get my bag first.”

* * *

 

Lysandra looked back and saw a sleeping Alex sprawled across the backseat, trembling slightly. The sight nearly made her melt, and she took off her jacket and stretched back, carefully placing it on top of him.

She leaned back against the seat, setting her eyes on Antony. She gave his leg a slight shove.

“You never told me you had a son.”

“Was it important?”he asked casually.

“Seriously?”

He shrugged, stopping at a red light.

“It’s not like we talk a lot, you and I.”

Through the rearview mirror, she checked to make sure the kid was still sleeping, then looked down at her hands, fidgeting.

“No, we don’t.”

She bit her lip, considering the nature of their,...relationship, if it could even be called such. Antony was hard to resist and addictive, she had come to find as she waited in between meetings, and time always flew by when they were together, at least for her. She was too consumed by him to notice much else, and even though the realization of this should make her run for her life, in reality it only made her want him more.

But what did she really knew about him? She knew he had come from nothing, just like her father, but unlike Victus, his ascend wasn’t too clean. He was married and had a child, but she still wasn’t sure how his relationship with his wife worked. For all she knew, this wasn’t the first time he cheated on her; maybe she was just another name on a list; maybe she wasn’t the only woman he was seeing. Did his wife suspect anything? She certainly didn’t seem to like Lysandra, but then the french woman had watched her for a while, first during the party and then during the game, and had the strong feeling that Fulvia didn’t like a great deal of people.

She was distracted by Antony taking one of her hands on his, lacing their fingers.

She completely forgot her worries and smiled, enjoying how well their hands fitted together.

This time, he dropped her off at home, and got out of the car with her, going as far as to walk her to the door.

“You know, I can make it on my own. This place is perfectly safe.”

“I know; I just felt like it.”

She almost reached out for his hand, but remembered her parents could be already home and decided against it.

She took out her keys and turned to him. Antony leaned against the door, using his forearm for support.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

She thought about it for a second.

“Sit in front of an instrument trying to produce something that’s not complete shit. Why?”

“I want to take you out for dinner.”

She rose an eyebrow, hear racing.

_“Keep it together. This isn’t high .school.”_

“You wanna go on a date?”

“Call it what you want.” he waved a hand, leaning in closer to her, his breath almost mingling with hers. “What do you say?” She leaned up to kiss him, but he backed away slightly. “I need an answer first.”

“Fine.”

He let her kiss him, pushing her up against the door, taking her by the wrists and placing them up above her, holding them with one hand while the other travelled down by her side.

“Someone will see.”she breathed in between kisses, not even attempting to put a stop to things.

He pressed himself against her.

“I’d never let anyone else see you like this.”he all but growled, biting her lip. “It’s too good of a sight.”

He parted then, leaving her wanting more. Lysandra almost grabbed him by the tie and pulled him inside the house with her, but instead grabbed the handle and gripped it tightly.

“Great! I’ll text you the details.” the bastard smiled, walking away.

Huffing, she refused to wait for him to leave, and marched inside the house and straight to her room.

Her parents weren’t home, which was good, and she could hear Cingerix still yelling in his room, no doubt too invested in his video games to even notice the apocalypse.

She opened the room to her bedroom and and put the lights on, throwing her handbag on top of her desk.

Lysandra jumped and yelped, noticing the figure on her bed, spread out with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“What’s up, bitch? Ready to get the party started?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ll fix this when I’m not falling asleep. Promise. I just wanted to get the scenes with Alex out in the world cuz he’s so fucking adorable! :3


	7. Chapter 7

**The Other Woman**

**Part VII**

  
  
  


The yelling didn’t make itself wait. Lysandra jumped on the bed, her arms wrapping tightly around Mariette as the other did the same, rapidly speaking in incoherent french into the other’s ear.

Tears pricked behind her eyes; she knew she missed her friends, she just hadn’t realized how much until she saw her partner in crime waiting.

They parted, grinning like mad-woman's but still holding the other.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying for the weekend! Ugh, Paris’s been so boring without you and Geoff.”sighed Mariette, running a hand through her straight, long hair. “My aunt won’t leave me alone; I think I might kill her. What’s that kind of murder called?”

“I don’t know, just, don’t do it. She’s trying to help.”

“Whatever.”

“She’s just proud to have you there.”

A faint smile formed on Mariette’s green lips, but vanished in the blink of an eye. She leaned back on the bed, using her elbow for support.

“That brother of yours took his sweet time answering the door; I thought the heat would kill me.”she eyed Lysandra up and down. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

A blonde, almost invisible eyebrow rose.

“I’m teaching this kid to play piano, so I went with him and his father to pick something, you know, so he can practice at home.”

Mariette tilted her head.

“Why’s your neck all red?”

“It’s not.”

“Yes, it is.” Mariette reached up and made Lysandra’s curls aside. Her eyes widened. “Mon Dieu! Is that a hickey?!”

“NO!”

Smirking, the other woman reached into her back pocket and produced a metal case of cigarettes and a lighter.

Lysandra frowned.

“How did that pass through airport security?”

Mariette winked.

“That’s not important. So, tell me,”she proceeded, lighting up the damn thing as Lysandra rushed to open her windows, not wanting the wretched smell to stick around. Mariette was considerate enough to stand next to one, exhaling to the outside. “are you sleeping with this kid’s father?”

They stared at each other in complete silence, the smirk on Mariette’s lips growing by the second. Lysandra swallowed; could she tell her?

Mariette was one of her best friends, she could tell her anything. She might get judged, yes, but she could also rest assured that the blonde nightmare only did it with the best of intentions in mind.

“You can’t tell anybody! Not even Geoff!” she spit out, almost too fast.

Mariette threw her head back, almost choking with the smoke as she laughed.

“HA! I knew it! I knew there was a reason I hadn’t heard that much from you.”she tossed the cigarette out the window, ignoring Lysandra’s protest of  _ ‘You could cause a fire! _ ’, and walked back to the bed, sitting on the edge and kicking off her heels. “So, daddy’s kept you busy, he?”

“Ew! Something’s wrong with you.”

“Miss perfect has spoken.”

Lysandra gave her a shove, growing serious again.

“Please, don’t tell anybody.”

Mariette’s brown eyes showed concern.

“Why?”she took her friend’s hand. “Has he hurt you? Or…”

“No, no.”Lysandra shook her hand, giving her friend’s hand a small squeeze. Taking a deep breath and looking down at her comforter, she said: “He’s married.”

Mariette didn’t say anything, and after a few seconds, Lysandra looked up, finding her with a pensive look.

“Is this the same guy from…?”

“Yes.”

Mariette’s hand flew up, smacking her head.

“Ouch! What’s your problem?”

“You, weak bitch! You’re my problem!”

“Look! In my defense, he’s extremely charming!”

“He’s an asshole!”

“That’s part of the charm, genius.”

Mariette rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What will I do with you, Lysa?”

She didn’t say anything, playing around with a handmade bracelet one of her cousins had made her. Mariette looked up, pursing her lips.

“I don’t like it.”

“I understand.”

“But you’re my best friend,...you fucking moron.”

“And Geoff?”

Mariette sighed, looking away before nodding, resigned.

“I won’t tell anybody.”

* * *

 

Her parents had been happy to see Mariette, who had mastered the art of pretending to be a sweet, innocent person for them, all while trying to bring up all the times Lysandra did something that could get her in trouble. Like the time they broke into the Lycée and glued chairs to the roof -Geoff suffered a small concussion-, or all the times they got drunk out of their minds and had to spend the next day in Geoff’s home dealing with the hungover because his parents were the only ones who didn’t mind.

Lysandra spent the entire dinner on the edge of her seat, waiting for Mariette to try and bring up one of those stories, or worse, to bring up Antony. The blonde knew, and kept on smirking her way, starting to say something that made Lysandra want to throw up, only for it to turn out to be completely mundane. Cingerix seemed to notice, and spent the evening giggling like an idiot, refusing to tell their mother what was so amusing.

“We should go shopping tomorrow. Better if we do it early; you wouldn’t want to run late, would you?” she asked, placing the napkin on the table as she got up, followed by a trembling Lysandra, whom by some miracle hadn’t broken anything yet.

“Late for what?” Delphinia asked lightly, still dealing with her gelato.

Lysandra tried to think of a quick excuse, but Mariette beat her to it.

“We’re going to a club. It’s very exclusive, we just don’t wanna wait in line.”

“That sounds nice; but do be careful. The other day on the news, some men were caught on camera putting something on a girl’s drink.”

Mariette took Lysandra by the arm, linking them together with an angelic smile.

“Of course. We always take care of each other; right, Ly?”

She nodded tightly, leading her out of the dining room and up the stairs.

“I hate you so much.”

Mariette giggled, walking down the hallway and into her friend’s bedroom, going straight for her suitcase, from which she produced a vanity case.

“Did you honestly think I’d tell them?”

“One never knows with you.” she huffed, letting her get the toilet first.

Delphinia offered to prepare the guest room, but Mariette insisted on sharing Lysandra’s, and before long, the house was quiet, most of its inhabitants already fast asleep.

Lysandra moved on the bed.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

She heard Mariette taking a deep breath.

“It’s hard to sleep when you keep kicking. How does that Antony guy gets any rest with you?”

Lysandra cleared her throat.

“That’s not,...I mean,...”

Mariette opened one eye, giving her a look of unmeasured amusement.

“There’s no much sleeping involved, is there?”

She crossed her eyes, thankful for the darkness of the room.

“Go ahead, ask.”

Mariette turned on her side, tucking her hands under her head.

“Is it true older guys are better?”

“Didn’t you sleep with a philosophy teacher once? He was older.”

She could almost see her rolling her eyes.

“That was the only subject I had left and I wasn’t about to get stuck in Lycée by it. Besides, I said ‘older’ not ‘ancient’.

Lysandra snorted.

“I told you I could help you study.”

“Days of studying versus five minutes with a guy who’s dick was so small he could’ve been an eunuch? The choice was easy.”

“See? Do you hear yourself? Then you don’t get my bad decisions. What else is to be expected from me after so long hanging out around you?”

She punched Lysandra in the arm.

“You haven’t answered.”

She bit her lip. It wasn’t a delicate subject between the two; there was little to nothing they didn’t share, it wasn’t the first time they talked about the people they were seeing, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“I can’t talk for all the older men, but,...”

“He’s great! That’s good. I’d kill you if you were getting in such deep shit and getting nothing in return.”

Lysandra turned her back to Mariette, pulling the sheets up to her neck.

“Goodnight.”

Mariette’s finger traced her arm.

“So, would you say he’s your best?”

“I said  _ goodnight _ .”

An arm extended over her and the lamp was lit up. Mariette tried to take hold of her face.

“Let me see your face.”

“What?”

“Your face never lies. Let me see it.”

“Fuck off, creep!”

Lysandra tried to kick her and get out of bed, but for someone who’s favourite exercise was running around a mall during season’s sale, Mariette proved to be quite agile.

Mariette took her roughly by the cheeks, squashing them.

“Look at me.”

“Sshfuckj ew!”

They stared at each other for a moment, Mariette searching while Lysandra tried her best to look intimidating. Finally, the blonde woman smiled broadly.

“Oh, wow.” She let go of her face, patting her cheek a few times and laying back down. “Yeah, I don’t need to know anything else.”

“I thought you didn't approve anyway.”

“I don’t. But I know you. I give advice, it goes through one ear and out the other.”

“You give advice but then don’t follow it yourself.”

“Ouch. True, but still.”

Lysandra laid back down, turning off the light. Suddenly, she couldn’t believe she had missed Mariette at all. An elbow connected with her ribcage.

“What now?”

“Just be careful, ok?” this time, all amusement had abandoned her voice, replaced by a quiet fragility.

Lysandra nodded, staring up at the white ceiling.

“Yeah, don’t catch feelings and all that, right?”

“Yeah. Also, don’t catch a baby.”

She yawned, snuggling against Mariette.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m serious, Lysa.”

Lysandra nodded, not really worried. She was on the pill most of the time anyway, since she had always had trouble with regulating her period. She was on it already when she met Antony.

“I swear, if your dumb ass gets preg…”

“Pill.”

“That’s not completely safe.”

“What is?”

“Touche.”

Mariette sighed, pressing her cheek against Lysandra’s hair.

“I always thought I’d be the one ending up with daddy issues.”

“Oh my…! That’s not it!”

A giggle was all the response she got.

* * *

 

The next morning, Lysandra decided she had nothing to wear. 

Antony had texted her with the name of the place, and Mariette had activated her detective mod, searching for the place and showing her their website.

“Seems exclusive. I wonder how he got reservations so fast.”

Lysandra huffed, throwing clothes out of her closet.

“He probably scared the manager into giving him a spot or something like that.”

A small  _ ‘uh’  _ was all the response she got.

Lysandra leaned against her desk and for the hundredth time that morning, offered to cancel.

“We haven’t seen each other in so long,...”

“Barely a month, don’t exaggerate.”

“We could do something just the two of us instead. Besides, you don’t approve.”

“I don’t, but I’ve had such a dull summer I decided to live through you.”she answered, stopping her search to grab her suitcase instead. “I think I got something you could wear, but we’re going shopping anyways.”with a sly smirk, she added. “You know, we need a three course meal, at least. Hors d'oeuvres, main and dessert.”

Lysandra blinked.

“I feel like you’re not talking about food.”

* * *

 

Antony pulled the chair back and Lysandra took the seat, watching him like a hawk as he took his own seat across from her.

“So, it seems like the people here know you.” she commented lightly, fingers drumming against the tablecloth.

“You could say they owe me a few favours.” 

“How so?”

Antony made himself comfortable on the chair, unbuttoning his jacket, studying her.

“Let’s just say I turn the blind eye from time to time, and they do the same for me.”

She hummed, rejecting the menu the waiter offered.

“You should order. I’m not familiar with the food from this country.”

Antony didn’t look at the menu either, ordering with rapid, low words.

“And bring some fucking wine, before I die of thirst.” Lysandra snorted, attracting his attention once more. “You don’t seem particularly perturbed by what I just said.”

“You may not tell me much of yourself, Antony, but I have eyes, and you don’t seem like the noble type. I can’t see you following rules.”

He smiled.

“Rules  _ were  _ made to be broken, weren’t they?”

“We could view it that way.”

“Does it bother you?”

She licked her crimson lips, and his eyes dropped down immediately. He had already made it clear that he liked her black dress, looking for any excuse to place his hands all over her, driving like a mad-man, as if he wanted to be done with the dinner as soon as possible. Even then, she could feel him stretching out his legs under the table, his feet brushing her calves.

“What?”

She wondered where that wine was.

“That I don’t tell you much.”

“I don’t,... I don’t expect you to care enough to ask me.”she confessed, trying to ignore the smoldering look he was giving her. “I won’t waste our time.”

“You think I don’t care?”

She wanted to close off, to bring her legs back or kick his away, but she forced herself to remain still.

“I watch, it doesn’t mean I got you fully figured out.”

“Certainly.” he said, getting up abruptly and taking the chair, walking around the table and sitting back again at her left. He leaned over the table, taking her hand in his. “Ask me, then.”

His thumb was drawing circles over the back of her hand.

“W-what?”

“Ask.”

“Um, what’s your favourite colour?”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Is that it?”

She rolled her eyes, trying to pull her hand back, but his grip tightened, turning her hand over and inspecting her red nails.

“I always liked black. It’s very simple, there’s not a lot of effort in wearing it. But lately, I’ve found myself drawn to red.”

Their eyes met for a brief second and Lysandra leaned forward, but then her phone vibrated. 

Taking it out, she rolled her eyes at Mariette’s text.

**‘I met this guy at the club**

**How do I ask him if he wants to have sex in italian?!?!?!’**

_**‘Body language?’** _

**‘Go straight to hell. Ill figure it out’**

“Is everything alright?”

She looked at Antony, turning off her phone.

“Yes, uh, it’s just a friend. She’s visiting and asking for translations.”

“And you left her for me?” he placed a hand over his heart. “I’m touched.”

“Believe me, I tried to ditch you, but she didn’t let me.”

“She seems smart.”

“She’s bored, that’s all.”

He chuckled, the sound as deep and rich as every other time she had heard it.

“Have you known her for long?”

“Since I was eight. She and Geoff were the first friends I made at school.” she nodded, smiling softly as the image of the pair walking up to her and offering a lollipop came to mind. “What of you? Any childhood friend that’s still around?”

She caught something, although it was so brief she doubted it was there at all. Was that sadness?

“No, not for some years now.”

“I’m sorry.” she whispered, holding on to his hand.

He rested importance to the subject with a small gesture.

“Nevermind. We’re not here to talk about ghosts, are we?”

Her lips stretched upwards into a bloody smile.

“No, I suppose we’re here to eat something. This century, preferably. They’re taking an eternity. Where are they bringing the appetizers from? Goddam China?”

He was smirking once more, and she had a good idea of what he would say before he did.

“I’d say the snack is here already.”

“Try again, old man.” she huffed.

The waiter came back with the bottle, which Antony snatched it from his hands before scaring him off once more.

“I hope you’re thirsty.” he said, taking both glasses and pouring the red liquid in them. In the dim light, all dressed in black, he looked more attractive than usual. She licked her lips. 

Lysandra waited until he put them back down, and she gave him her best sultry look.

“I don’t want wine.”

He narrowed his eyes as she stood up, nearing him in two shorts steps. Instinctively, his hand placed itself on her waist.

“What do you want then?”

“Let’s see... First, I want you to kiss me.”she told him, her hand working on the bottoms of his shirt, slowly, with such laziness one would think she wasn’t really into the task. “Then, I want you to see what’s underneath the dress.”she rose her face, nose brushing his up and down, moving away when he tried to kiss her. “After that, you are going to prepare your own, personal appetizer.” she got rid of his shirt and moved on to his belt, her movements barely under control. “And finally, I want you to fuck me on that table.”

Her hand slipped under his pants.

“No underwear. Who’s being naughty now?” she whispered against his lips, allowing him to kiss her, gladly surrendering to his heated embrace.

He pulled down her dress, not caring for the sound of the zipper giving in, and as the fabric fell down, stepped back to admire, his finger pulling on the suspender that held her thigh high pantyhose and letting it go, slamming against her skin with a sharp sound.

“How considerate of you,” he said, grabbing her jaw and walking forward until her back hit the edge of the table. “letting me eat first.”

“I’m selfless like that.”

He kissed her again, helping her sit on the table, his hands taking a grip of her legs and running down, getting to her ankles and separating them, immediately taking the empty space between them. 

His kisses travelled down and he sucked on her neck, probably leaving yet another mark, making her throw her head back and moan softly, the soft movement of the stripes of her lacy bra being pushed around her shoulders and down, one hand following the path of the soft fabric as on the other side, his lips did the same.

Antony changed his course, going up and across the expanse of her chest, kissing and licking his way across the exposed skin. He grabbed her hips, pushing her right into him, Lysandra moaning and Antony growling when the heat of their bodies met the other. 

Blindly, he pushed the contents off the table, not bothering to look when the sound of shattered glass met their ears, and laying her down gently. He stepped back for a second, his face partially red from her lipstick, making her smile as his starved eyes looked her up and down once more.

“There you go. You just figured out my favourite meal.”

Lysandra giggled, legs closing around him and pushing him against her, arms coming around his neck as she kissed him, sighing at the feeling of his bare chest against hers.

His hands cupped her breasts, and when she moaned, he let his tongue slip inside her mouth. 

His hands went up, lacing their fingers together and holding them at each side of her head.

“Tell me;” he whispered in her ear, softly biting her lobe, his voice so affected it gave her goosebumps. “did you get all dolled up for me?”

One of his hands began to travel south, cold fingers barely touching her hot skin as they brushed between her breasts and kept going.

“Why else would I?” she breathed, feeling his fingers sliding past her stomach and under her panties.

One of his fingers began to rub her clit and she bit her lips, searching his. Softly, Antony took a hold of her hair and pulled her head back.

“Look at me.”

She did, the dark gleam in her eyes sending a thrill throughout her body. He slid a finger inside of her, moving in and out slowly, curling and making her whimper.

Lysandra pressed her forehead to his and tried to kiss him, but Antony seemed more interested in watching her, backing away, his eyes taking hers as prisoners.

The door opened.

“Fuck off!”he warned, his voice suddenly hard, loud and commanding, making her arch her hips into his hand.

The door closed.

He lightly kissed her lips, then her chin, then her chest, stomach. His hand left her and she tried to complain, but one look from him had her waiting in silence as he took the fabric that made her panties and pushed them down, placing them in his pocket.

He kissed his way around and up her thighs, his hands coming around her hips and holding her in place, much to her irritation.

He bit her.

“Be still.”

Still she went, gripping the edge of the table as to not try and push his head to where she wanted him.

He knelt in front of her, placing her legs over his shoulders with gentleness, and slowly licked her fold, his mouth closing around her clit as he pushed two of his fingers inside of her, already an expert on what to do and how to do it to drive her up the walls.

She closed her eyes, her heel running up his back. He groaned against her, changing his tactic and fucking her with his tongue instead.

That now all too familiar fire she felt with him began to build and she reached up, her hands searching for something to hold onto when she jumped off the edge, gripping the tablecloth so tightly she thought the fabric would rip.

He let her ride out her orgasm against his mouth, drinking her up like a dying man.

Lysandra heard the faint sound of fabric being manipulated, and she was still panting when she opened her eyes and found his face over hers. She took his cheeks on her hands and kissed him, tasting herself on his mouth, whimpering into it when he entered her.

“You’re driving me insane.”he growled against the skin of her jaw, leaning back.

He had a firm grip of her hips as he fucked her on the table. Lysandra kept her eyes on him, loving the way he watched her, from her messed up hair to every part of her sweaty form.

In no time, the fire was re-ignited and she sat, wrapping her arms around his mid-back, pressing her cheek to his chest, the only sounds she could hear besides their moans and growls that of his rapidly beating heart.

He also held onto her as they both came, clinging almost desperately. One would think they hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

He looked down just as she looked up, and they both smirked.

There it went the plan for a ‘normal date’.

“You know? All of the sudden I’m not so hungry anymore.” she said.

He kissed her forehead.

“Truly?” he asked, still moving slowly inside of her. “I’m famished.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**The Other Woman**

**Part VIII**

  
  
  


Lysandra stared at the white wall, absolutely exhausted and equally pleased with herself, her mind in a fuzzy state where everything seemed just fine.

An arm snuck around her waist, and kisses were peppered across her shoulder blades, getting a small smile out of her.

“Where do you get all this energy from?” she asked, voice gorgy as she stretched.

The arms around her tightened, and she was pulled back into a hard chest. She turned her face, accepting a small kiss on her lips.

“Practice makes for endurance.”

She snorted, tangling her legs with is.

“Sure.” looking around the place for the first time, she noticed the expanding light, an indicator of a new day arriving.

The room was painted of a faded white, which made her suspect nobody came often, but everything was in perfect conditions, even the cracking bed, which had beautiful carvings in its wood.

She could tell there was a big window to Antony’s side, but he was on his side, blocking her view, and she too comfortable in his embrace to even attempt to take a peek.

“What’s this place?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

The sun was up; there was no point in going to sleep.

“I used to live here.”

“Really?”

She looked around again, finding everything to be the same but different at the same time. She tried to picture a younger Antony walking around, going on about his day, coming back at night to sleep on that very same bed, and she snuggled more against him.

“Yes. It belonged to a senator who fell out of favour with Caesar. This property belonged to him, and after he was put to prison, Caesar gave it to me.”

“Why did he go to prison?”

“Corruption.”was his cut answer, and Lysandra got the feeling that there was much more to the story, but didn’t ask.

Ignorance was bliss, people said.

“So, you lived here. Why move?”

“My new house is closer to the center.”

She rose an eyebrow.

“House? Are you calling this a house?” he looked down at her, almost as tired as she felt, his thumb running across her forehead lightly, right where her hairline started. “This is a fucking villa.”

“Yes, I suppose. It stopped being fun to live in when I ran out of wine.”

“You drank that man’s wine?”

He laid back, closing his eyes, smirking, probably at the memory. She turned around so she could look at him.

“Every drop, till the last one.” he chuckled, now rubbing her back. “Caesar wasn’t too happy. Made me pay for it afterwards.”

“I imagine it wasn’t just any cheap wine.” she mused.

“Nah. My bank account still cries the lost.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Oh, yes.”

She laughed, leaning down to lay with her head on his chest, the warm sun rays tempting her to finally surrender to sleep.

She kept her eyes open, focusing on Antony’s steady breathing. He pressed his nose to her hair and then kissed her head and she smiled.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes, the only sound interrupting their little moment that of the birds chirping.

If Lysandra was being honest with herself, she enjoyed those quiet moments with Antony as much as she enjoyed the sex, and she also had to admit she liked learning a bit about him, but didn’t want to push it, and so decided to wait before asking something about his past again.

Her phone rang, and with a resigned sigh, she stretched out to grab it.

Antony hummed.

“What?” she asked distracted as she read Mariette’s message, looking up at him.

“Nothing. Just a deja vu.”

_ “Déjà-vu.” _

“Yes, that.”

His arms tightened around her, a small frown on his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm? Oh, yes, yes.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good!” she smiled, showing him the message.

“It’s in french.” he told her, and she pointed at a specific part of it. “You need to go there, don’t you?”

“If only there was someone who knew the city well,...and was kind enough to drive me…”

She sighed, resting once more against his chest and smiling up at him. For one moment, the odd look was back on his face, but then he rolled his eyes and the corners of his lips lifted. He kissed her forehead, sitting up.

“Get dressed. It’s not that far.”

 

* * *

 

Mariette was waiting for them in a café, looking like someone who had one hell of a night.

Smirking, Lysandra rang the claxon, startling not only her friend but Antony as well, and stuck her head out.

“Hey there, pretty thing. How much for the hour?”

Mariette rolled her eyes, getting up from her seat and putting a few bills on the table.

“For you, I’ll do it for free.”

Antony looked Mariette up and down.

“Who’s that?”

“My best friend.”

Mariette opened the back door and slided in across the seat, her eyes watching Antony through the rear-view mirror.

“Ok, he’s not bad looking. I can see why you’re behaving like an idiot.” she said in french, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, obviously trying to look intimidating.

Antony smiled, amused even when he couldn’t understand.

“Did you get your message through to the guy?” asked Lysandra turning around in her seat as Antony drove at high speed.

Mariette smiled.

“It was a good night, yes.” she ran a hand through her hair. “But then I woke up and he was making breakfast, Lysa, breakfast!”

“That’s nice.”

“No! It’s horrible! So I ran and then I called you.” she shrugged, taking out her phone. “What took you so long, anyways?”

She cleared her throat, and not looking at her, Mariette smiled.

“You know what? I don’t need details. Now, translate for me.”

She fixed her makeup and smothered down her hair while Lysandra waited, slightly worried about what might come out of her friend’s mouth.

Antony parked the car, and Mariette tapped him on the shoulder, a friendly smile on her pink lips. He turned to her.

“Tell him that if he hurts you I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to him with chilli sauce.”

“I’m not saying that!”

“And tell him I know how to use this. My uncle taught me.”she added, searching her handbag and producing a black, swiss knife.

“Mariette, put that away!”

Lysandra reached for the weapon, but Mariette held it out of her reach.

“I’m not gonna use it,...unless I got reason to. Now, tell him.”   
“No!”

“Don’t be unreasonable!”

“You’re insane!”

Lysandra snatched the knife from her hands and sat back, panting, while Mariette crossed her arms and eyes Antony with little sympathy. He seemed to be having a blast.

“Again, how did you pass this through airport security?”

“You keep asking, but I won’t tell you.”

She looked at Antony, eyes wide, heart racing.

“I swear, she’s not crazy.” she told him.

He was laughing! The bastard was laughing!

“It’s fine. I got the message.” he nodded to Mariette, who returned the gesture, looking satisfied.

“In that case, I’ll wait outside.” she announced, getting out of the car.

Lysandra turned to Antony, still worried Mariette had scared him off, but he was shaking his head, chuckling.

“I’m sorry about her.”

“Don’t. Really, I like her.” he reached into his pocket and took out a small key, which he handed to her.

Hesitant, Lysandra took it.

“What’s this?”

“A key.”

“You’re joking.”

He reached out and placed her hair behind her shoulders.

“Keep it. It’s for the villa.”

Lysandra’s fingers closed around the key. She had so many questions. Why give it to her? Was he suggesting something? Did he plan on having her around for long? How many women had gotten a key before her?

Instead, she looked down at her closed hand and bit her lip, feeling how the cold iron slowly warmed up.

Her heart was racing again. Mariette was right; she was stupid.

Smiling, she kissed him one last time before getting out of the car.

 

* * *

 

Mariette’s flight was to take off at night, so she and Lysandra did their best to stay awake the entire day, catching up on what had happened since the latter had moved, and going out to take in the sights of the city.

Lysandra showed her some of the places she had found in the city, and even took her to meet Alberto and Donna, where they had a snack while Donna ate Lysandra’s ear off for not visiting more often.

Mariette snickered the whole time, her face buried in a big portion of chocolate cake, bigger than the one Lysandra got as a thanks to her abandonment.

“You don’t even know what she’s saying.” Lysandra growled at Mariette, who was getting started on her third slice of cake.

“No, but it’s still fun.”

“I can’t wait to get rid of you.”

Alex second lesson was the next day, so Lysandra set herself to the task of getting him some classical music to listen to.

After having breakfast with Donna and Alberto, she went straight to the first music store she could find and searched.

Soon, she found out there was almost nothing that wasn’t older than five years, so she had to take a bus to the center of the city to find a store that offered a bigger menu.

She found one that met her standards and tried not to go too crazy, grabbing cds and checking their strings selections, talking to the employee that was helping her and discussing one composer or the other.

“It’s always nice when there’s a client who knows her stuff.” the man sighed, looking around the store and noticing a few lost newcomers.

She nodded.

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

He left her rather quickly, and she looked back down at the bow. It wasn’t bad, but despite what the employee had just told her, she knew it wasn’t handmade, so she put it back in its place.

God, she missed her regular luthier.

She drifted back to the area of the cds, and smiled at a Mozart one.

“A classic.”she shrugged, adding it to the pile.

“Lysandra?”

She looked up, smiling broadly at Sabina, who was nearing her with a hesitant step that seemed to be characteristic of her, a smile of the same nature on her lips.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Sabina shrugged.

“Everything’s fine.”

Lysandra didn’t believe her, but she didn’t know Sabina very well either, and considered it rude to pry.

Sabina placed a strand of hair behind her ear, pointing at Lysandra’s big cd stack.

“You really are into music, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. And you? What do you like?”

Sabina sighed, looking around.

“We always play Debussy at home.”

“But do you like it?”

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

“I, I guess.”

Lysandra turned so she could face the other woman, leaning against the counter.

“It’s not about guess, really.”she told her gently, watching her closely. She noticed a darkened patch of skin on her collarbone, but the fabric of her t-shirt covered great part of it. “Does it make you feel something?”

“Sleepy?”

Lysandra laughed.

“He’s not for everyone, I’ll give you that.” she looked up and down the long rack. “You know, maybe classical isn’t your thing.”

“What?”

“Maybe you’re more into pop, r&b, jazz, I don’t know.”

“Isn’t pop a little…?”

“Overrated?”

“I was going to say repetitive.”

She sighed, still looking around, wondering what Sabina needed to shake her up a little.

“I’d say every genre can get repetitive, sometimes. The little things is what sets the songs apart. Hey, what about tango?”

“What?!”

Lysandra smiled, taking an Astor Piazzolla cd.

“Here. This one’s good. I prefer Gardel though; he was french.”

“Isn’t tango a little,...you know.”

She tilted her head, smirking.

“No, I don’t. A little what?”

Sabina’s cheeks turned a bright pink.

“You know, a little provocative?”

Still smirking, she looked down at the song selection of the album.

“That’s the essence of tango, isn’t it? It’s the seduction dance.”

“Well, yes, you might know about that but I…”

Sabina’s words died in her mouth when Lysandra turned her gaze on her. The french woman face was carefully set in a mask. 

“I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“I know, it’s fine.”

Sabina looked around before stepping closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“I just, I saw you looking at Minister Conti the other night, and then I saw him looking at you, and the you were again…”

“How observing.”

She shrugged, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I get bored at those parties, so I watch people.”

Lysandra remained in silence for a moment, trying not to panic.

“Please, can y…”

“I won’t tell anybody, I promise. It’s none of my business.”

Lysandra nodded, handing Sabina the album.

“Oh, my  parents wouldn’t like me listening to that.”

Lysandra found it odd; she was never forbidden of listening to any kind of music. What kind of parents did Sabina have?

She took it with her then, and they both walked to the front counter.

They waited in uncomfortable silence, and once the french woman had paid, they walked out together as well.

Sabina turned to her.

“So, um,...do you,...wanna grab some lunch...with me?”

Lysandra arched an eyebrow.

“After you insulted me?” Sabina turned red again and opened her mouth, but Lysandra beat her to it. “Sure! You pick a place.”

 

* * *

 

They ended up sitting on the terrace of a lovely place full of flowers. Lysandra already liked the place.

She ordered her food blindly, and the memory of the night of saturday made her smile. She took out her phone and sent Antony a quick text.

_**I’ll see you tonight?** _

The reply didn’t make itself wait.

**I’m not sure. Things at work are hectic.**

She tilted her head, absent-mindedly thanking the waitress as she placed the plates on the table.

Sabina reached for her glass of water, and that was when Lysandra first noticed the diamond ring on her finger.

“You’re engaged.” she said, dumbly, as the other woman set the glass down and examined her finger like one does when choosing between one brand of flour or another. “Was it recently? The proposal?”

She shook her head, placing a napkin on her lap.

“No. Rodrigo and I have been engaged for almost a year now.”

“Rodrigo?” Lysandra was truly surprised now. “I’m sorry, I thought,...nevermind.”

She looked down at her phone again.

_**I’ll make dinner if you go.** _

She was a shitty chef, but she was promising a dinner, not a good, edible one.

She made the phone aside, focusing on Sabina.

“Almost a year? That’s a long wait.”

“The wedding will be big.” she nodded, smiling, trying to look excited, probably.

She looked more like a snake hissing.

“Can I be frank?” asked Lysandra, taking a big gulp from her beer. Sabina still eyed the liquid like the thing had grew a mouth and spoken a prophecy to her, but nodded slowly. “You don’t seem so excited. Has the waiting bored you?”

She went stiff on her seat, her hand clenching the fork, and Lysandra sat straight, waving a hand.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Sabina looked down at her ring, moving it from one side to the other with her finger. Lysandra waited patiently, chewing her pasta and trying not to stare at the flowers for too long. “I just,...he’s just,...and I,...and my parents,...” she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, and putting on a big, fake smile. “Of course I’m excited, it’s just that I didn’t get much sleep last night, you know, thinking of the design of the invitations and that.”

“Yes, I hear the planning is a draining process.”

She was such a terrible liar, but Lysandra let her be, not wanting to press to hard. She changed the subject, and instead spoke of Alex, of how she had started to teach him and how sweet the boy was.

Sabina listened, truly listened, and Lysandra had the passing thought that maybe the italian woman was thankful for anything that took her mind of her fiancée.

Lysandra decided she couldn’t stomach a dessert, but insisted that she didn’t mind waiting until Sabina finished hers.

The woman played around with her flan, looking up with a ruffled smile.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

Her phone vibrated on the table, and she turned it long enough to read Antony’s brief text. She smiled. He’d be there; which meant she’d have to cook something, but that was a problem for later.

“It’s just that I don’t really, uh, don’t really have anyone to talk to about this and,...please don’t take this the wrong way…”

“Sabina, breathe.” she instructed softly, wondering what on earth was making her so incoherent that day. The Sabina she had talked to on those parties had been quite eloquent and serene, not the jumpy mess of that day. “I won’t be offended, I promise.”

“Right.” she nodded, looking down at her untouched dessert, her cheeks red. “You see, I don’t have anybody to talk about this and,” Lysandra let her ramble, nodding slowly, completely focused on her, “and I was wondering if it’s true that it hurts? When you,”she dropped her voice once more, leaning close and checking for evesdroppers. “when you have sex for the first time?”

Lysandra smiled, tempted to pull of a ‘Mariette move’ and yell out something a bit scandalous just to embarrass Sabina a little, but in the end remembered that Sabina wasn’t Mariette, and that her question was honest.

“And you thought to ask me?”

She shrugged, now all red to her neck and ears.

“I thought you could answer. You’re always nice and seem to have some experience,...”Lysandra rose an eyebrow, not doing a great job at hiding her amusement, and Sabina shook her head vehemently. “No! That’s not what I mean! Not at all!”

“Don’t worry, I’m flattered that you consider me a man-eater.” Groaning lowly, she hid her face behind her hands. Lysandra bit her lip.“Truly? You’ve never done it?”

Sabina was a gorgeous woman, and Lysandra would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised.

She nodded sheepishly.

“Look, I nev…”

Lysandra held up a hand.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” she said, stretching across the table to pull Sabina’s hands away from her face. She did her best to look approachable. “Look, I can tell you it will hurt and I can tell you it won’t and it all will be true and a lie at the same time.”

All the response she got was a confused look, so the french woman moved on her seat.

“You see, it’s different for everyone. My cousin told me she didn’t feel anything.” she shrugged, taking a sip from another beer. “I did felt it. I punched my boyfriend by accident.”

Sabina choked on her food.

“What?”

Lysandra shrugged.

“It hurt, it caught me by surprise. That was my reflex; but I apologized, I swear.”

Poor Cassius. Lysandra tried to convince him of wearing makeup to cover up the bruise around his eye but he refused. For the following two weeks, people thought she was an abusive girlfriend.

“My point is, you won’t know until you try.”with a smirk, she added. “It also depends on how much he prepar…”

“Shh, shh, that’s enough. Thank you.”

She relaxed back on her seat, putting on her sunglasses.

Sabina ate in silence, her face still so red their waitress approached them to ask if they would like to switch to a table inside the restaurant. Her companion refused, her dark eyes seeming to switch between the dessert and the waitress’s ass as she walked away.

Lysandra looked and hummed appreciatively. The woman looked nice.

Her gaze fell back on Sabina and again, she debated whether or not to speak.

“Can I ask you something?” she spoke before her brain had made up its mind. Sabina nodded. “Why do it now?”

“What?”

Taking off her sunglasses and pulling them up above her head, she gave Sabina a pointed look.

“Oh! Well, you know men.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Rodrigo has expressed his, uh, interest.”

“Yes, that’s fine and all, but do you want to?”

“What do you mean?”

_ “Do you want him to stuck his baguette in you or do you want the waitress to go down on you?” _

“I mean, do  _ you _ want to have sex with him?”

“Oh, that.” Sabina took her last bite of the dessert, chewing deliberately slowly. She waved the waitress for the check, still chewing. Lysandra suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable; it didn’t take a genius to know what was bothering her companion. “I don’t think it’ll be so bad. And you said it yourself, it doesn’t always hurt.”

“Don’t do it.” she spit out, reaching for her wallet at the same time Sabina reached for hers.

“What?”

“Don’t do it unless you’re absolutely sure you want to, ok?”

“Lysandra, I…”

“Promise me.” she took Sabina’s hand and forced her to make eye contact. “Promise me. And if anybody tries to persuade you of the contrary, you tell me, ok?”

“I…”

“Ok?”

Sabina nodded once, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Yes, I promise.”

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**The Other Woman**

**Part IX**

  
  


She was on the verge of tears. She was also considering hunting down the person who wrote the recipe on the book and killing them slowly. 

There was nothing ‘easy’ to the recipe,...not that she had tried for longer than ten minutes before sinking to the floor, resigning herself to a life of boiled eggs or takeout, since the only two things she knew how to do successfully were boil an egg and order half a menu through a phone with lighting speed.

She took out an apple from the bag and bit into it, staring into the oven as the pizza cooked itself slowly. It was both a good and bad thing she thought of a contingency plan; for one, they wouldn’t end the day on an empty stomach, but on the other hand it made it more obvious she was in way over her head.

She couldn’t cook! She never learned, and god knew how hard her grandmother tried to teach her when she was a child. 

No, she never paid attention to what the old woman was explaining, too busy looking at the clock, waiting for her mother to come back from work so she could show her the new piece she had learned.

Maybe it was a good thing her grandmother was dead; otherwise, she’d be hugely disappointed in the lack of culinary skills in her family.

She finished the apple and tossed it in the trash can, missing by an inch. With a resigned sigh, she crawled over and picked it up.

A shadow appeared above her, and when she looked up, she found a tired but amused looking Antony staring down at her.

“Will you ever find me in a normal position?”

“I hope not. Is that my shirt?”

She got up quickly, smiling brightly.

“Yes! The rain caught me.”

The day seemed beautiful, the sun shone brightly and the skies were clear, but then, from one moment to the other, it closed off, a thunder broke through, and the pouring started. She was just getting out of the taxi, right across the street from the villa, but that hadn’t saved her. Luckily, she found some clothes in the closet of the room she had stayed in the other night.

She found several pieces of clothing, most of them well taken care of and apparently new.

She wasn’t so sure if she should ask.

“So, you said you’d cook something.”

She nodded energetically.

“I did! I slaved away in this place all afternoon.”

He seemed even more amused than before, and his eyes flickered to something behind her.

“I can see the pizza box from here.”

Lysandra didn’t say anything, balancing on the heels of her feet. Antony waited for an answer, and with an apologetic look, she decided she might as well be honest.

“I tried! I really did! I found a dummy-proof recipe, got all the ingredients, but then I got here and try to read said recipe and…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t understand anything!”

He threw his head back as he laughed, and if she hadn’t found the sound so endearing, she might have smacked him.

Shaking his head, Antony took off his jacket, placing it carelessly on a chair and pulling the sleeves of his shirt up.

“What were you trying to do?”

“Cannelloni. Why?”

“Really? But that’s not hard.”

“Shut up!”

“Very mature.”

He opened the fridge and began to take out the things she had brought.

“We’ll make the dough first.”

“But the pizza…”

“This will take a while. You’ll be hungry again when we’re done.”

She bit her lip, watching as he moved around with ease, feeling like a complete failure.

“You don’t have to,...”   
“Shut up and take this.” he said, handling her the milk.

She didn’t say anything else, slowly tailing after him as he set everything ready, helping to make room.

She felt like a jerk. He had told her he was busy, but came anyways upon her insistence and the assurance of a meal, and now they’d have to stay up for who knew how long because she couldn’t pull through with her promise.

They set to work quietly; well, Antony did, since she had no idea of what was happening.

She looked up at him as he whipped the eggs, the guilt not residing.

“So,...how was your day?” she asked out of the blue, part of her sincerely curious and the other trying to be attentive.

He seemed surprised by her inquiry, to say the least, and Lysandra almost took it back, almost told him he didn’t have to tell her if he didn’t want to.

He blinked a few times and looked back down, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Uh,...busy.”

She felt herself smiling.

“Nice vocabulary you got going on.” she elbowed him gently, looking back at what he was doing, handing him the flour when he asked for it.

“It was boring, alright? They’re threatening with cutting off the finance and I’m trying to stop that.” he sighed, eyes focused on the task at hand. “I also spent two hours, I’m not joking, two hours, discussing  _ one  _ word for my campaign announcement.”

“What announcement?”

“Presidency.”

She almost knocked over a glass.

“You’re running for president?”

He looked up and winced slightly.

“Not really. For the public, yes, but really, Caesar is the one running.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“You’re very inquisitive tonight.” he said, oddly quiet.

Lysandra stopped for a moment. Was she? It wasn’t like she was asking for his life story, merely about the events of his day.

The brief thought went through her head: did anyone ever asked him at home?

“It’s just that I promised the other parties I would pass along the dirty secrets.” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

He huffed, but kept on talking.

“Both Caesar and I will run, but the people will vote for him as candidate, so then he’ll make me VP.”

“But what if the people voted for you instead? Or anyone else?”

He gave her a brief look, making the liquid aside and getting started on the stuffing.

“It won’t happen. Everything’s been carefully considered.”

She took the pizza out of the oven.

“You’re making politics sound almost fun.”

He laughed again, softer this time, but the sound getting her attention nonetheless.

“Believe me, it’s mostly old people bickering.”

Since Lysandra was a terrible chef and would no doubt get in the way, she set herself to the task of distracting Antony, constantly asking question after question or just annoying him for the fun of it. He didn’t seem to mind though, and answered most of her questions and always caught her right before she tried to slip a spoonful of sugar into the mix.

He was right; cooking cannelloni took time, and before they were done with the stuffing, the pizza was completely gone.

“Get over here.” he told her after a while, and she jumped off the counter, trying to run away when he placed her in front of the oven, where a frying pan awaited threateningly. “It’s not gonna bite you.”

“Who knows?”

“Here.” he placed a hand over hers and helped her grip the handle, putting a knife in her other hand.

“Why a knife?”

“It’s easier. Now,” he took the liquid that was supposed to be their dough with a ladle, letting it fall right in the center of the frying pan. “give it a round shape.”

Carefully, he guided her hand in a circular motion, letting it take form. Lysandra’s heart was beating fast, but she wasn’t quite sure if it was because she was actually cooking something or because Antony was practically pressed up against her back. 

“Now, use the knife like this.” he instructed, taking it from her hands and placing it underneath the thin pancake, making sure it wasn’t stuck before quickly turning it over.

Lysandra was pretty sure she was as pale as a ghost. There was no way she could do that!

“Your turn.”

“How about you do that and I give moral support?”

Chuckling, he kissed her neck and flipped the frying pan, letting the mass fall neatly on a plate.

“Go ahead. Try it.”

“No!”

“Jesus! You’ll be fine; just do it!”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took the ladle.

“No so much or it’ll be raw on the inside.”

Grinding her teeth together, she measured again.

“No, that’s too little.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?! I look at it and what?! I ask it if it’s fine?”

She could feel him rolling his eyes.

“You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“No, I won’t! I’m never doing this again!” she turned to look at him, trying not to wince when some of the liquid fell off to the side. Of course he noticed, but didn’t make a comment. “Next time I’ll order something!”

“You can’t live your life off takeout.” he said simply, like it was common sense.

“Watch me!”

“You’re burning it.”

She looked down quickly, using the knife to try and flip it over, but only broke the thin circle. She kept on trying, and only managed to flip half of it, getting it all stuck.

“Shit!”

“Let me help you.”

“No!”

“For fuck sake, woman! Let me help you!”

“Fuck you! I said no!”   
He went over but she tried to elbow him in the stomach, trying to keep him away from her. He only went around her, encircling her in his arms and trying to take the frying pan from her.

“Get away!”

“You’ll get us burned!”

She laughed at the absurdity of it all. She trying to cook something, Antony knowing his way around a kitchen, and the mess she was making.

Antony’s arms snuck around her waist, bringing her up against him and kissing her temple. Lysandra conceded, letting go of the frying pan and turning off the stove.

Still in his embrace, she turned around, still laughing softly, only to find him smiling. He still looked tired, but seemed to be standing straighter than when he first arrived.

“You suck at this.” he told her, his tone light.

She rolled her eyes.

“My secret’s out. I’m not so perfect after all.”

“You make up for your flaws just fine.”

“You’re supposed to say that what I say it’s not true and I’m absolutely perfect.”

She placed her arms around his broad shoulders, unconsciously leaning up.

“Oh, but I like your flaws, alright.”

They didn’t move for a few seconds, nor did they say anything.

He did? She wondered if he had been paying attention at all.

“You like them for now.” she said softly.

Antony shook his head, leaning down and kissing her slowly.

Of course, Lysandra noticed that the kiss was completely different from the others. This one wasn’t urgent, needy, nor passionate, like he needed her to stay alive. It was soft, almost sweet, and it took her breath away all the same.

* * *

 

It was well past midnight when the food was ready, and Lysandra had to admit that Antony definitely knew his way around a kitchen.

“I might kidnap you and force you to be my personal chef.” she told him as they ate on a small table in the kitchen, right by a big window that let them see the forgotten garden. 

Lysandra thought it was a pity. The place was so big, but everything in it was dead; the temptation of trying to plant something, anything, just to see something green, was high.

Antony had smiled, fork halfway up, his free hand drawing circles on her calf. He didn’t seem to care that she was basically using him to rest her feet.

“I won’t put up a fight.”

Lysandra tried to convince him to let her wash the dishes, since he had done practically all the job, but he insisted that it was a ‘team effort’, and resorted to the task of drying everything as she washed it. They did it in a peaceful silence, the singing of the crickets barely reaching them. There was something that warmed her up inside about doing something so simple like washing the dishes with Antony, and the comfortable silence only made it better. Somehow, she had felt closer to him that night than any of the others when they had stayed up until the sun began to rise, too tangled in the other to even notice the time.

She was certain Antony would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he surprised her once more by pushing her into the bed, quickly climbing on top of her and claiming dominance, taking her at a slow pace that drove her to madness.

It had been so unlike his usual rough ways, but as passionate and starved as all the other times.

He fell asleep soon after, his face nuzzled against her neck, half his body still atop of hers; but Lysandra laid awake for a while, her arms around his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

She had questions she didn’t know how to ask, or if she could or  _ should  _ ask them at all.

What had sparked the need of going after someone behind his wife’s back? Why did they always seem so cold when they were in public? They walked side by side, yes; she had seen it on the party and on tv while following the case of abuse of power by a capitano, and it was almost as if they were making the effort of not touching each other unless necessary. 

Or maybe she was just imagining things.

But why did he have clothes in a place he didn’t live? Not a few, old, forgotten pieces but practically half a closet, and everything looked to be in great conditions.

Someone had changed the sheets of the bed since she had been there last, and when she first arrived that afternoon, and opened the fridge to place her groceries inside, was not only surprised to find it already connected, but with contents inside, most of which still hadn’t expired.

She thought, for a moment, she was the cause for whatever was going on with his family, but could it be that it went beyond what they were doing?

She turned, careful of not waking up Antony, feeling how he moved a bit until he was spooning her.

Why did he seem surprised when she asked about his day? Was it because he didn’t expect  _ her  _ to care? Was it because nobody else did? She didn’t know Fulvia, but she couldn’t picture her taking the time to inquire after other’s people day, even someone as close to her as a husband.

Lysandra closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Why did she care so much?


	10. Chapter 10

**The Other Woman**

**Part X**

  


Two days later, Cingerix came down the stairs surprisingly early, announcing how it was time Lysandra began to pay her debt and took him out to the city.

She wanted to protest. Her previous day had been busy; she had another lesson with Alex and after that she spent the rest of the day locked up in her music room, a new idea forming in her mind. At night, she left to meet Antony, and they watched the repeat of his campaign announcement on tv, pretending that Fulvia hadn’t been standing quietly behind him during the event, a well practiced smile on her face as he read from the paper. He hadn’t let her sleep much after that, but the heat from his wedding ring had been hard to ignore all of a sudden.

She wanted to spend her day in peace, no running after her brother around a city she didn’t really know; but Cingerix wasn’t about to accept anything but an affirmative, and she did owe him.

They went out to the museum, but he got bored easily, so they headed to the Colosseum, a place Lysandra didn’t enjoy much. They went inside with a tourist group from all around, and she couldn’t even pretend to be listening to the guide.

Cingerix practically skipped ahead of her, asking a question or two here and there, and then five more in quick succession.

“How many gladiators fought a day?”

“Well, there was more than just gladitorians fights actually,...”the tour guide seemed to be debating between elation due to Cingerix’s curiosity, and irritation, since he barely gave the man time to keep explaining to the rest of the tourist before being attacked with another inquiry.

Lysandra stopped and stared around her. Carefully, she placed her hand around the old, warm stone. She closed her eyes, imagining the rough stone to be softer, and she could swear she heard the sound of metal clashing against metal, of lions roaring and the sound of a few bodies hitting water.

_“Should we let them live?”_

She gasped and opened her eyes, turning around for a second.

“Antony?”

She was there all alone, the group she was with a few meters ahead of her, snapping pictures and pointing at some place or another. Snorting at her sillines, she looked to the right; across the big, oval space, there was an empty square where the host of the games would sit. 

She had the briefest, oddest thought, that if she sat next to the host’s chair, she’d be right at home.

 _“I knew I should’ve had breakfast before going out.”_ she thought, resuming her walk, putting herself to the task of saving the tour guide from her brother.

* * *

 

They got a text from their mother, saying that they needed to get Cignerix a new tuxedo for the Ferragosto celebration.

They were both displeased to find out they were attending yet another party, but their mother texted again with the address of the shop where they were expected and so, they cut their day short.

Shopping with her brother was almost like shopping with Mariette. He took forever to pick something and then tried to buy everything, if it weren’t for his sister stopping his impulses.

“You’re not wearing that tie.”she sighed again, rubbing her temples.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not five anymore. Right, Jimena?”

The woman who was attending them, a tall, slender, charismatic blonde who seemed to belong to a magazine catalog coughed, smiling politely.

“I believe something,...not so intricate would fit you better, young sir.”

“Ugh, fiiiiine.”

He turned around in front of the mirror, untying his tie, and Lysandra got up to handle him another. She placed it around his shoulders and stepped back as the employee stepped forward, trusting her to give a better hand than her, when she collided with someone.

“I’m sorry.” she turned, a panicked look on her face, only to find an unimpressed looking Fulvia. Lysandra cleared her throat, her eyes flickering to her hand, holding up a long, grey bag. Her ring shone proudly on her finger. “I-I’m sorry; I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly.” she said, her voice flat as she looked her up and down. “Here I was, hoping to have a peaceful afternoon,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the employee attending her. “and then I run into my husband’s little whore.”

Both the employee and Lysandra didn’t know how to react, and they just stared in disbelieving silence.

“Hey, man! What’s your problem?” Cingerix jumped down, slipping out of the blonde’s grasp as she tried to finish the knot, a deep frown on his young face. “That’s my sister you’re talking to!”

“It is? Well, then, I’m sorry for you.” she set her cold, blue eyes on Lysandra, who was still in shock. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re here. That way, we can talk sooner.”

“Talk? You wanna talk with me?” she asked, pointing at herself.

“Yes.” Fulvia stood straighter, smothering down her pencil skirt. “I did. Nothing too long, don’t worry about missing  on your next spa day or something of the sort.”

_“What’s up her butt?”_

Lysandra crossed her arms, her stupor dying, being replaced by sheer annoyance.

“Aha. And?”

“I just wanted to ask a little favour of you.” she said. Her phone ringed, and she took it out and set herself to answer whatever text she had just gotten. “Whatever little game you and my husband have going on, please end it now. It was amusing to watch at first, but now it’s tempting luck.” she looked up again, briefly, before continuing on with her text. “So, if you would be so kind as to stop fucking my husband, I’d be very thankful.”

Lysandra huffed, catching Cingerix before he stepped forward and did something stupid.

“Sure. Right after you get that stick out of your ass.”

Before that woman could say anything, she took Cingerix and led him away.

* * *

  


For the next three days, she didn’t contact Antony. She didn’t answer his texts nor his calls.

After a day came and went by, she found herself chatting with Geoff through skype when the cleaning lady came in.

“What is it, Linda?” Lysandra smiled at her, getting up after promising Geoff to be right back.

She followed Linda into the foyer, where a man waited with a big bouquet.

Lysandra thanked Linda and the man, letting her lead him out as she slowly went back to the living room, examining the flowers closely.

Jasmins.

There was no note, but it wasn’t necessary to know who had sent it.

She smiled softly, smelling the flowers.

_“He remembered.”_

She took out her phone, ready to call, but stopped and considered it.

She put her phone away, and left the flowers on the first surface she could find.

* * *

 

The third day, Alex came by again. Lysandra asked if everything was alright, and he shrugged, saying his parents had both missed his football game the previous day.

Lysandra shifted in her place, holding Sabrina tight against her chest before carefully placing her on the floor. Alex reached out with hesitant hands, awkwardly petting the cat in the head.

She tried to cheer him up, distracting him with stories of her when she was his age, cookies and Sabrina (whom by the time the kid left seemed ready to slit Lysandra’s throat open in her sleep), and then she walked him to the door, where Antony’s driver was waiting for him.

Alex bid her a good day and left with a wave of his hand, but the driver remained at the door, a package in his hands.

“I don’t want that.” she said before he even opened his mouth.

The man gave her a freezing look and extended the thin, long rectangle.

“I won’t leave until you take it, miss. I have orders.”

She bit her lip, trying to decipher if he was serious or not. Behind him, Alex nodded energetically, his expression worried and she took the box with resignation.

“See you in three days.” she told the child, closing the door and marching back to the music room.

She pulled of the thread holding the wrapping paper together, and made that aside as well as she opened the box carefully.

She stared in silence, overcome with emotion.

He had gotten her a new bow for her cello. 

She took it out, placing it forward right in between her eyes. Perfectly straight. Good signal. Italian obviously. The head wasn’t too low nor too high, and the horsehair felt soft and new after she tensed it.

She admired the intricate design on the frog. The flowers running around it delicately and up till the thumb leather.

Her phone rang in her pocket, and she took it out.

**‘Did I get it right this time?’**

She wanted to call.

Hell, she wanted to see him. Those few days away had her aching, driving her up the walls, but the reminder of her little encounter with Fulvia kept her from it.

She knew. If she knew, did that meant it wasn’t the first time something like that happened to her?

She didn’t care about Fulvia’s feelings, she cared about her own.

How many like her had paraded through that marriage? Was she the only one at the moment? What would happen once Antony got bored of her?

She didn’t want him to get bored of her.

She didn’t want him going to someone else.

And she didn’t want to be made a fool, so she locked her phone and put the bow back in the box after loosening it, placing it in a corner of the music room where she wouldn’t have to see it.

Her heart felt heavy as she sat in front of her piano and stared past it to the harp. She tried to follow the melody she had been working on the previous day, but something completely different came out of her.

Maybe she already was a fool.

* * *

 

The party to celebrate Ferragosto was as boring as Lysandra expected it to be. Her brother seemed to have finally made a friend, and he was off somewhere, probably trying to do something stupid her parents wouldn’t approve of.

She wandered around, looking for Antony. Not that she was going to talk to him, no.

For the past three days she had ignored him, ever since her encounter with Fulvia.

She felt furious, confused and slightly scared.

Furious due to the way that woman had spoken to her. Who did she think she was? Yes, Lysandra was aware that she was the odd one out in the relationship, but she couldn’t help but feel a great,... _distaste,_ for Fulvia.

It wasn’t jealousy. Not at all.

The confusion came a few hours after the encounter. So she knew about her and Antony. Did that mean that Antony knew that she knew? Didn’t she care? Her husband was going behind her back with someone younger and she asked Lysandra to stay away in the the same manner one asks for a coffee. 

Again, for the millionth time, she wondered, had Antony done such a thing before?

The fear came from the prospect of Antony finding out. They never mentioned his wife when they were together, and he didn’t seem overly fond of her from her observations, but that didn’t mean he would tolerate Lysandra’s insults, and in a public venue of all places.

She stopped at the bar and slowly and as clear as she could, ordered some scotch. What was it with Italians not understanding her accent? It couldn’t be that horrid, could it? Donna and Alberto understood her just fine, as did Sabina and Antony, whom she was finding to avoid that night.

That’s what she told herself, at least. She just wanted to confirm if he was there, and then proceed to stay in the opposite side of the place.

She drowned the drink in one big gulp and asked for another, wishing Mariette was there to smack some sense into her.

Someone placed a martini in front of her.

“I didn’t order this.” she told the bartender, who pointed at a stranger a few paces to her right. She barely contained herself from rolling her eyes. “I don’t want it. Get me what I asked for, please.”

The bartender nodded and exchanged the glasses, and Lysandra took the scootch and quickly looked around, trying to remember which part of the mansion she hadn’t checked yet.

“You know, usually, when a guy buys a woman a drink, she graciously accepts it.”

She didn’t even bother looking at the guy.

“You didn’t buy it. It’s an open bar, cheap shot.”

He chuckled. Why did he do that? She had just insulted him!

“Yes, I didn’t think things through.” he offered a hand. “I’m Andrea. And you are…?”

“Not in the mood.” she finally gave him a quick look, deciding that he was handsome. Tall, dark eyes and hair scooped back, with the face of a pretty boy and a suit that was most likely hiding a well trained body. “It was nice talking to you, though.”

She went back the way she came, if only to be rid of him, but the guy followed.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

“Is it the accent?”

“Yes. It’s lovely.”

This time she did rolled her eyes, moving aside quickly as to not collide against a passing waiter.

She stopped and smiled, seeing Antony in the room she had just entered. It wasn’t hard to miss him, with him looking so dashing, albeit a bit uncomfortable, in his dark suit. Despite herself, her heart sped up at the sight. Fulvia was by his side but it was as if Lysandra couldn’t see her.

He looked in her direction and seemed to spot her almost immediately. His eyes scanned her up and down, taking in her simple, knee length green dress, just like she had done with him, and that time her heart did that silly little thing where it tripped and almost fell.

A hand wrapped around her arm and startled, she looked up to find the guy from before, Andrea, smiling down at her.

“You ok? I was talking and you seemed,...off.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” she tried to walk away, but he didn’t let go.

She narrowed her eyes at the hand, and looked up at his dark eyes and smiling face.

“Would you care for a dance?” he asked, nodding to the couples in the other room, gliding elegantly across the floor in a waltz.

“No, thank you.” 

She tried to walk away and he let her, releasing her arm but walking after her. She snuck a small glance in Antony’s direction, and found him not staring at her (which was a disappointment) but rather at her new companion. Shaking her head, she looked forward once more.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“That’s not a real answer.” he smiled again, stepping in front of her and offering his hand. “C’mon, just one dance.”

She was tempted to say yes just to shut him up and to see Antony’s reaction, but the more she thought of the latter, the less she wanted to find out what he’d look like. She didn’t want to hurt him, and she also didn’t want to be disappointed to find he didn’t care whom she danced with.

“I said _no_.”

She tried to walk around him, but he didn’t let her. Her annoyance was clear on her face, she was sure.

“Look, Andy, I got better things to do than entertain you.”

“But I,...”

“ _I_ don’t care. Now, leave before I make a scene and turn you into a pariah.”

He huffed, the smile and charm gone.

“Fine Be like that.” his shoulder collided with hers as he walked past, turning for a moment to add: “You know, you’re not very nice.”

“Noted.”

He left with that.

“And here I was coming to rescue you.”

She smiled briefly when Antony approached, and resisted the urge to hold onto him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here.” she said, looking around carefully.

“Do what? I was only helping a damsel in distress.” he looked behind him, sending the guy’s retreating back a calculating gaze. “He seemed annoying.”

“He was.”

He turned to look at her again, and over his shoulders, she saw Fulvia watching them from the other side of the room.

She suddenly remembered why she didn’t want to see him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he said.

“That’s not true.”

He took a step closer, pretending to be puzzled.

“You don’t answer my calls or texts, and you haven’t gone to the house either.”

She shrugged.

“I’ve been thinking.”

He took another step closer, and she took two back.

“About?”

Lysandra shook her head, not wanting to air her worries in front of a room full of people who could destroy his career and get her father in a scandal that’d make him look bad.

“Nevermind.”she nodded in the direction of Fulvia. “You should go back to her. She seems to miss you.”

Antony looked back and saw his wife, and when his eyes set themselves on Lysandra again, there was no amount of affection there. Just some cautionary coldness.

“I’ll leave you be, then.

* * *

 

How she wished she hadn’t turned down that guy’s offer to dance.

Bitterly, Lysandra took the flask she carried around the whole night and drank from it. Mixing up drinks wasn’t a good idea, but those were escaping her lately anyways.

Besides, the night was chilly, and there was nothing like some good vodka to warm up the body.

She looked over the beautifully lit garden as the sun set in the horizon, wishing it was time to go. She promised her parents she’d wait until night before disappearing, but Cingerix wasn’t so lucky, and he had to stay until Victus and Delphinia felt like leaving.

 _“C’mon, sucker. Go down already.”_ she thought, squinting her eyes at the sun and taking another sip.

The balcony doors opened and closed behind her.

“Are you drinking from your purse?”

“Fuck off.”

She felt rather than saw Antony leaning against the rail right behind her, his eyes burning through her.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, apparently curious.

“Nothing.”

“Mmhm.” she heard him sigh, but refused to turn to look at him. “You’ve been ignoring me for three days, and now you throw a jealousy fit just because I was talking to someone else.”

“I’m not jealous!” she crossed her arms, cursing under her breath when some of the vodka fell out of the flask.

She jumped when she suddenly felt him behind her, his front bushing her back.

“Really?” he breathed into her ear, one of his arms coming around her waist and pressing her tightly against him. “It looked a lot like jealousy from where I was standing.”

“You should’ve looked closer.”

God, she hated how out of breath she sounded, and how the goosebumps rose when he chuckled right into her ear, the vibrations of the sound leaving a trace on her.

“Oh, believe me, I have.” he said, pressing his lips to the skin behind her ear and starting to descend. “Since the moment I got here, I’ve been watching you closely.”

“And?” she asked, leaning against his chest and closing her eyes, struggling to remember what she was angry about. “Did you like the view?”

He nodded against the skin of her shoulder.

“I loved the view.”

Lysandra bit her lip and frowned, pushing him away.

“Did you tell the same to that girl?” she asked, her anger returning, though her desire for him remained stubbornly in place.

Antony rolled his eyes.

“Now I don’t know if this is an attractive look or an irritating one.”

She rose her arms and huffed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Don’t forget you have other options though, since I annoy you so much!”

He narrowed his eyes.

“If you want to play that game, then fine: what about you, uh? That _boy_ you were talking to? Who was he?”

She caught his condescendence when using the word _‘boy’_ ; it was the same she used for that _‘girl’_ she had heard him talking to. The difference was that the ‘girl’ was barely older than Lysandra herself.

“Um, an idiot who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” she told him like it was the most obvious thing. “You heard me talking to him. What about you? I heard something too.”

She had been lucky enough (or unlucky, depending on how one saw it) to be heading towards her mother when she heard Antony talking to a stranger. She didn’t linger to overhear their conversation, but did catch on the suggestive tone and words of the girl.

“Oh, fine!” he surrendered, putting his hands up in a tired manner. “I slept with her, alright? Once! Months ago! Happy?!”

She stared at him, hard. 

God knew she wanted to believe him, she really did. She knew Antony enough to realize he didn’t feel any remorse regarding what he was doing to his wife, no matter how much of a cunt she was, but did that transfer to her as well?

She decided to put voice to something that had been bothering her all summer.

“Are you seeing someone else?” she asked, not liking how vulnerable, how scared her voice sounded like.

He returned the stare, calculating at first, and gradually softening. He understood where she was coming from?

He offered her a hand.

“Come here.” he said, his voice almost tender.

Lysandra shook her head, now scared of his lack of answer.

“Fuck’s sake.” in two short steps he was standing there, cornering her against the balcony. He put both arms on each side, trapping her in a cage, and they glared at each other. “As if I had time to fuck someone else when I got you trying to get in my pants every five minutes.”

She fought back a smile, and instead forced on a hard look.

“I never heard you complain.”

“I’ve got no reason to.” he said, his entire front pressed against hers, looking down at her chest, watching it rise and fall with each ragged breath. “Who’d be stupid enough to let you go?

“So, you’re saying I’m your favourite?” she asked, pushing her hips into his, his growing want soaking her.

He grabbed her face and kissed her roughly.

“I’m saying: you need a lesson, gattina.”

He spun her around, pressing her against the railing, lifting her skirt.

“Someone will see.” she breathed, even though she didn’t really want to move now.

“Let them. This one time, let them.”he breathed, pushing down her panties and standing again, holding her against him as his other hand came around and cupped her, inserting one finger inside of her, fucking her rapidly. She threw her head back and into his shoulder. “They’ll know I only want you.”

She reached back and tried to work on his belt, but Antony grabbed both arms with his free one and pressed them to her sides.

His finger slid out of her, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness she hated, so she moved against him in protest.

“So fucking impatient.” Antony bit her ear as he worked on his pants.

After a few agonizing moments, Lysandra felt him entering her in one swift move, burying himself completely. They both sighed, having missed the feel of the other more than they should.

Antony’s hand came back to its previous place, massaging her clit with one finger as he moved roughly.

“Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?” he growled against the back of her neck, barely able to switch between speaking and kissing her skin. “No more,” he held her tighter, and Lysandra found support on the railing, her moans barely contained. “disappearing for days. No more jealousy fits.”

She didn’t answer, simply whimpered, desperate for some relief, but at the same time not wanting to reach it, and instead stay forever intertwined with Antony in their own private dance.

“Did you hear me?!” he asked again, his grip on her waist almost painful, the other hand coming up and wrapping itself around her neck.

Lysandra found the actions arousing. She nodded, opening her eyes and looking up, trying to lean towards his face.

Antony seemed to understand her just fine, since he met her halfway in a fiery kiss. She opened her mouth for him,and as usual, let him take control. 

She moaned into his mouth when she came soon after, and Antony followed shortly, biting her lower lip, not bothering to move out of her.

She leaned back against his chest, smiling with affection when his hold on her became sweeter and he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“I ran into your wife the other day.” she said, careful of disturbing the atmosphere. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”

“So you finally admit it.”

She elbowed his stomach softly, chuckling, then giggling as his breath tickled her neck when Antony started to pepper her with kisses.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Don’t worry about her.” he told her.

“Ok.”

He paused for a moment, and then, carefully, he added:

“Don’t worry about anyone.”

“Ok.” she turned around, sliding her arms under his jacket and around him. He looked down at her, hands resting casually on the small of her back. She kissed the tip of his nose, then his mouth, tongues dancing languidly. She looked back at him, feeling much lighter than she had earlier in the evening. “We should leave.”

* * *

 

She told her parents to not worry about her, that she and a friend were going out, and waited comfortably sitting in the backseat of Antony’s car, not even trying to make conversation with his driver. 

After some eternal five minutes, the door opened and Antony got in. Lysandra didn’t waste her time, barely giving him time to close the door again before throwing herself at him, kissing him with fervor, hands pushing the jacket off him.

Antony caught up pretty quickly, his greedy hands running up her legs, squeezing her ass and going further up, probably searching for the zipper of her dress.

Lysandra was barely conscious of the partition closing, too busy with getting rid of his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, running her nails down the hard planes as her lips moved to the length of his jaw. Antony threw his head back against the headrest and sighed.

Lysandra shifted in her seat, trying to make herself as comfortable as possible in the small space. Her nose brushed Antony’s cheek, and she moved back when he tried to kiss her, earning a warning grunt.

She undid his belt quickly and slid a hand underneath his pants, the other coming back up to caress the back of his neck.

“You _really_ missed me, uh?” she asked softly, dragging her lips from his cheek to his neck, her hand getting his member out of its confinement and stroking slowly.

Antony moved into her hand, his eyes closed as she continued working, gently biting his ear and burying her hand in his short hair.

She moved to his lips, planting the faintest kiss. Antony opened his eyes, so dark with lust she had to make an effort to not just sit on his dick and be done with it.

Instead, she licked her lips slowly, smirking when his eyes fell to follow the action, and moved on the seat as she traced her tongue down his chest.

She ran her tongue up his shaft and slowly took him in her mouth, establishing a steady, slow pace. She heard Antony groan, an arm draping across her back, hands pulling her hair back.

She held onto him with one hand, the other wrapping itself around its base and matching the movement of her head, steadily increasing in speed.

The sounds she was evoking from him only made her need grow, and she shivered when she felt his fingertips tracing up her leg, rising her skirt and teasing her, a single finger moving up and down her wet folds.

She moaned into him when he inserted a finger inside of her, and Antony held her hair thighter with his other hand, moving into her mouth with newfound urgency. Lysandra let him, arching her own hips into his hand as he panted, cumming into her mouth with a final, animalistic growl.

She swallowed quietly, rising up, panting, her cheeks red, and laid herself across his lap, taking his hand and moving him out of her.

She made herself comfortable in his arms, wrapping one of hers around his neck and kissing him briefly. She took the hand that had been inside of her and slowly moved it up, licking his wet finger and taking it in her mouth, keeping her eyes locked on his.

Lysandra let go of the hand, but Antony kept his finger in her mouth, adding a second one as her own hand travelled down, massaging her own breasts through the fabric of her dress and trailing down, finding her nub and drawing circles, moaning breathlessly into his hand.

Antony looked down, swallowing hard when he saw what she was doing, his grip on her waist tightening.

“Is this what you get up to when I’m not around?” was his question, voice dark and rough with wanton lust.

God, she loved his voice.

She nodded meekly, still sucking on his fingers as she inserted two of her own inside, pumping herself slowly. Antony exhaled, still looking down, his jaw clenched.

His fingers left her mouth and he took one of her legs, parting them further in the confined space. She moaned, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, her fingers moving swiftly, well versed in her own body.

Antony reached down, as if wanting to help, but thought better of it and instead gripped her thigh, fingers digging into her skin.

A knot tightened in her lower stomach, and she looked up at the time he looked down. She arched her hips into her own hand, her shaky breaths mixing with his.

“That’s it, gattina.” he whispered, holding her against him. “Cum for me.”

And she did, eyes closing and head falling back as her walls tightened around her fingers. She tried to press her legs together, but Antony made sure to separate them, pressing his forehead to hers, his tongue lightly licking her lips.

“You’re such a good girl.”

She merely whimpered in response, still pumping herself slowly, only to have her hand taken out by Antony, who licked them dry.

The car stopped, but they didn’t seem to notice.

Lysandra watched him closely, and when he was done with her fingers, she tried to sit straight, gasping when she felt something hard pressing up against her butt.

They shared a quick glance, and moved almost in synchrony. Lysandra rose to her knees, placing her legs on each side of him, her hands on his shoulders as he looked up at her.

She smiled, lowering herself down and sighing in relief, not wasting time and moving swiftly.

Antony groaned into her neck, pushing the stripes of her dress down to her waist and pressing her now naked front to his, hugging her against him, immobilizing as he moved up, hard and fast as usual.

Lysandra moaned his name into his ear, too out of breath to scream as another orgasm began to built up quickly.

She finally managed to find her voice when they both came soon after, scratching his shoulder as he bit hers, most likely leaving a mark.

They came down in an unsteady manner, and Lysandra had to suppress a laugh at the thought of having to be carried into the villa, her legs feeling to shaky to be trusted.

She put a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling broadly as she heard Antony pant, only to yelp in surprise when he flipped her, laying her down on her back across the seat, hovering over her.

“Not enough for you?”she asked, delighted with herself.

“Enough of you? Impossible.”

He planted a firm kiss on her lips, trying to move down.

Lysandra giggled.

“There’s no enough room for that.”

He opened the door, and she stole a glance at the front yard of the villa, the building standing proudly behind Antony as he set himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around her hips, brusquely pulling her towards him.

The chilly summer air hit her legs as he placed them over his shoulders, smirking devilishly as Lysandra pushed up, holding her weight with her elbows in the thin width of the carseat.

Was he really going to…?

She moaned loudly as he ran his tongue up her folds and sucked, cleaning her up from his cum and hers and setting her on fire again.

“Fuck! Motherfucker!” were the lightest words that came out of her mouth as she pressed her hips against his mouth.

Abruptly, he dropped her legs and stood up, fixing up his pants and offering a hand, enjoying the look of utter disbelief and frustration on her face.

“Shall we go inside?”

* * *

 

The night was eerily quiet, and Lysandra was afraid to disturb it, just like she was afraid of disturbing the man resting next to her.

She liked the simple feeling of him, she found out, and he didn’t seem to mind her wandering hands, so she slowly ran her them across his chest. Another thing she had recently discovered was that she liked his chest hair, something she wasn’t used to, since none of her ex-boyfriends had had much, if any at all, for some reason or another.

So she liked to run her hands across the hard planes of his chest.

She snuggled closer still, and felt his lips on her forehead.

She rubbed her face against his neck, lips lazily starting to run up his neck.

Her hand went down, her intentions that of resuming their previous activities, when she stopped suddenly and frowned, feeling a small, soft patch of skin. Her finger ran over it, finding it odd how it seemed to rise up, running in a short, straight line.

Lysandra moved back, looking down at the place where her hand rested, confused at her new discovery.

There was a small, thin scar there, like a cut, on his right side, at the level of his belly button.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Antony remained silent for a few seconds.

“A stab wound.”

He pulled her back down, placing the sheets around them, tucking her to his side.

She let herself be handled, her hand itching to find the scar again.

Lysandra wasn’t so sure if she could ask, but she was much too curious.

“How it happened?”

He sighed, running his hand through her hair. For a second, she was certain he wouldn’t tell her.

“My father did it. I was fourteen.”

Lysandra stayed very still.

“Why?” she asked in a murmur, almost sounding hurt.

Antony shrugged underneath her.

“He was drunk, as usual, so he used me as a punching bag, as usual.”

Lysandra wasn’t sure on how to proceed. She couldn’t really understand; she couldn’t phantom the idea of a father hurting a child just _because_.

She had done a few things that got her in trouble as a child. Who hadn’t? Her mother had spanked her twice in all her life; her father however had never done it, not even attempted to.

“So,...he,...umm,...he stabbed you?”

“Well, it was either me or my brother, so the choice wasn’t so difficult to me.”

“You have a brother?”

“Had.” he answered after a moment, quietly, his hand still running through her hair. “I had a brother. His name was Lucius and he was younger.”

“What happened to him?” she asked, though the prospect of finding out scared her.

Almost on its own, her hand moved down to the scar again, just to make sure it was real, not some thing her mind made up.

“I moved here, to Rome, and joined the army; and one day I got a call from my mother.” he spoke dryly. “She was hysterical, yelling. She told me he beat Lucius to death, that it was my fault and I wasn’t allowed to go back.”

She rose using her forearm for support, and looked down at him.

Slowly, the hand she had over his scar crawled up until she cupped his face.

She looked down into his eyes, _truly_ looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. 

“I’m sorry.”

He threatened to smile.

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

No, she supposed it wasn’t. Still, she felt guilt creeping up on her.

She pictured a much younger Antony, getting hurt over and over, getting a call from his mother, blaming him over something he had no power over.

The guilt was replaced with anger. She didn’t know if his parents were still alive, and it was better to not know, otherwise she might hunt them down and kill them.

“Who else knows about this?” she asked then, out of the blue.

“Caesar.”

He didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t need to ask.

She knew.

Caesar knew, and she knew. No one else.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Before he could reply, she leaned down and kissed him slowly, lovingly, and then laid her head down over his chest once more.

The next time another Cleo came along, she would remember this.

She would remember the things she knew, the things that made her special, different from the others, and she’d know…

...There was nothing to worry about.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Other Woman**

**Part XI**

  
  
  


Lysandra woke up before Antony did, to her utmost shock.

She got out of bed and was even more shocked when he didn’t wake up right after. He usually did when she tried to get away.

She put on her dress again, which laid intact on the cold floor, and left the room as quietly as possible.

There was a big hallway ahead of her, beautifully lit. She had never noticed before, since she usually visited at night and didn’t linger around much when Antony wasn’t there. One would think one single person wouldn’t make much difference, but she felt like the place was too empty when he wasn’t there.

That, and she had watched a few horror movies in her life. She knew what happened to the hot girl all alone in the big, old house.

On her way, she couldn’t really decide where to look at;  to the big dead garden to her right, visible through the many tall windows, or to the abandoned portraits hanging on the left side?

She focused on the garden, a sad look overtaken her as she examined the place. 

_ ‘What a waste!’ _ she thought as she bent down to pick up one of her stilettos.

The space was so big, but it was as dead as it could get.

If she could had her way, she would fill the place with trees and flowers of all kind, making it as colourful as possible. She didn’t care if one type of flower was meant to be next to another specific type or not, she simply wanted flowers. The entire surface filled with them, and maybe enough room for a small table to sit at during summer afternoons and drink iced tea.

She stopped in the living room and leaned against the back of the couch, admiring the glass doors that lead to the garden.

She checked the pockets of her dress, a smile starting to form as she felt the small, plastic rectangle.

She put on her heels and left.

* * *

 

When she returned, Antony was on the foyer.

He opened the door right as she was about to do the same.

“Oh! Thanks!”

She walked right past him, whistling softly to Britten as she went, and heard him following behind.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the big plant she was carrying in her arms.

Lysandra set it down on the floor carefully.

“Bougainvillea.” she smiled. “It’s from South America, apparently. Maman always wanted to grow these back at home, but the weather made it impossible. I think they stand a chance around here.”

“You got your mother a plant? I’m sure she’ll like it.” he smiled, watching the small thing with little interest.

“No, silly! It’s for you.”

Antony stopped and stared at her like she had grown a second head. Lysandra’s smile began to fall.

“You don’t like it, do you?” she looked down at the plant again, the small red flowers shining under the sunlight. “It’s ok, I can, I’ll take it with me. I’m sure ma…”

“I didn’t say anything.” Antony interrupted, rising his hands and stepping closer to her. He looked down at the plant, putting on an unsure smile. “It’s very pretty; I just don’t know how to care for it.”

“You just water it, preferably often.” she said, now nervous.

That was such a silly idea. What was she thinking?

Antony produced a small sound from the back of his throat.

“Yes, sounds easy enough.” he looked from the plant and back at her, and smiled at the distrust on her face. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and Lysandra made use of all her strength to not smile. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

Lysandra opened the door and looked down, finding an excited Alex waiting on the other side, sporting a wide, toothless grin. She thought he looked extremely cute on his khaki shorts, and found the combination with a blue t-shirt with a dragon in it even more adorable.

He jumped when he saw her, his hand on the driver’s bigger one.

“Lizzie!”

“Hey there, little dude! Did you practice?”

Alex’s ears turned red, and he held up a piece of paper. Not able to fight back her smile, she took the paper and unfolded it, finding an ugly drawing of what she assumed was her sitting at what probably was supposed to be a big piano.

“I love it!” she said, offering him his hand, which he took. She looked up to Antony’s stoic driver. “You’ll pick him up too?”

The man shook his head, and for the briefest second, she remembered he had been the one driving her and Antony the previous night. 

Her cheeks turned pink.

“No. Mr.Conti will.” he took a step forward and offered her a small elephant backpack, which she accepted awkwardly.

“Oh. Ok, well bye!”

She closed the door and sighed. How awful.

Alex was waiting patiently, swaying their arms back and forth.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“We’re doing a whole octave today.”

His terrified face made her laugh, and she laughed even harder when he planted his feet on the ground, trying to escape her grip.

“No! Anything but that!”

* * *

 

Antony was running late, so Lysandra invited Alex to have a snack with her on the backyard.

She even invited Cingerix, but her brother prefered to stay up on his tree, reading his comics.

Alex asked only for warm milk and some papers and pencils to colour on.

Lysandra watched him, slowly finishing her iced tea, and couldn’t help but notice how calm he was. When she was a child and her parents forgot to pick her up somewhere, she’d break into a sobbing mess immediately.

She checked her phone, but there were no new messages from Antony, only a dirty meme sent by Mariette.

“Aren’t you worried?” she couldn’t help but ask, picking up one of the biscotto the cook had made.

“What?” asked Alex, looking up from his masterpiece.

“That your father’s not here.”

He shrugged, going back to his drawings, not looking up as he tried to find the straw in the glass of milk. Lysandra smiled, moving it in his direction.

“Dad’s always late, and so is mom.” he said like it was nothing, putting the blue down and picking up the green. “Besides, I like it here. It’s quiet. And there’s a cat!”

Lysandra winced, feeling Sabrina climbing up her leg, nails digging into her skin. Oh yes, the cat was the best part.

The feline made it up and laid across her lap, stretching across both legs and drifting off to sleep.

She took another sip, looking up into the tree that was giving them shade. Cingerix was up there, reading his comic, his face a horrified one as he rapidly passed the pages.

“There’s a lot of noise at home?” she asked lightly, scratching Sabrina behind her ears.

Alex shrugged again and the cat began to purr.

“Yeah; mom and dad fight a lot, but I’m used to it.”

Lysandra sat straighter.

“They do?”

He nodded.

“Yes. They scream a lot, and then one of them leaves and Ana puts me to bed.” he looked up for a moment, twirling the green pencil on his small fingers. His hair fell over his eyes, but Lysandra didn’t dare to move it. “I like it when dad is the one to stay. He’s not mean to me.”

“Your mom’s mean to you?”

Lysandra tilted her head and tried to hide her concern.

Alex looked down again.

“She doesn’t like anything I do. But dad says I don’t have to be sad. He says she doesn’t like anybody.” shyly, he looked up. “She reaaaallly doesn’t like you. I’m only allowed to come here because dad said something that scared her.”

_ ‘Yes, I can imagine.’ _

She rose an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yes, but I didn’t hear what it was.” he sighed, looking down.

Lysandra moved on her seat, swallowing back the lump in her throat. When had those fights started? Alex seemed used to them, so they must have been going on for a long while. So that meant it wasn’t her fault, at least not entirely.

Did this mean a divorce was due? The idea sent a joyous thrill down her back, but the sight of Alex coloring in front of her didn’t allow her to enjoy it.

“I’m sure your mom loves you.” she said softly.

Was she really trying to put in a good word for Fulvia?

She told herself that wasn’t the case, that she was only doing it for Alex. She cared about him, and she cared about Antony.

Somehow, the word “ _ care _ ” seemed to come in short.

“She never says it.” he whined, looking up at her.

Lysandra forced on a smile.

“People show love in different ways. Give your mom a hug tonight and see.”

He seemed to ponder about it as he deviated his eyes.

“And dad? Do I hug him too?”

“If you want to.”

Alex ceased his writing for a moment, pouting, looking like he was making a life decision. Finally, he smiled, showing the spot where he was missing a tooth.

“Yes! Dad too!”

* * *

 

When the Subercaseaux siblings arrived to the football field, they thought they were in for a fun time. It had been a while since Lysandra was to one of those junior games, the last being when her father dragged her to cheer for Cingerix, years back when he liked to play better than he liked to watch and yell.

Of course, they didn’t have that much luck.

Alex had invited her to go see him play the previous day. Apparently, he had been planning on doing so all afternoon, but got shy. It was Antony who put him in evidence when he arrived to pick him up, barely taking the moment to apologize to Lysa for his delay before asking his son “Did you ask her?”

Alex had gone red and looked down, shaking his head and tugging at his father’s sleeve. Lysandra, with a sweet smile and sweeter words, convinced him to not be afraid, and that’s when she found out Alex played football, and he was excited because the coach had decided he was actually going to play that day, instead of just sit in the bench. He wanted her to go see him play, and Lysandra couldn’t refuse his adorable face.

Of course, since it was a weekday and she had in mind the child’s claims that his parents were never really there, she went with ease, confident enough that the afternoon would go smoothly. She convinced Cingerix to accompany her, and they were both in for a fun hour and a half. She was even thinking of getting Alex an ice-cream afterwards, if whoever was supposed to pick him up was fine with the idea.

She got an elastic out from around her wrist and tied her hair up. The game seemed to be about to start, which barely gave her time to find Alex and wish him good luck.

“Do you see him?” she asked her brother.

Cingerix laughed.

“Oh yeah. This is gonna be interesting.”

She followed his gaze and froze in place, mentally cursing in all the languages she spoke (which weren’t that many, only romanian, besides her native french and awkward italian) as she spotted a tired looking Antony and an irritated Fulvia just a few meters ahead.

“Should we leave?” she asked her brother, who gave her some serious side-eye.

“And risk disappointing Alex? You wouldn’t dare, would you?”

“I’ll tell him I got sick or something. Stop laughing, asshole!”

She was about to turn around when Alex looked in her direction. She saw him smile from ear to ear, and escape whatever lecture/pep-talk his mother was giving him to run in her direction.

“Lizzie! Lizzie, you came! You came! You came!”he threw his arms around her waist again, and Lysandra patted his head, wishing to disappear of the face of the earth.

It was one thing to share a room with Fulvia while at a party, where there were a few dozens of people keeping them apart and no children who could get hurt, but another much different one to be close in an open space. They were both there for the same reason, after all; some sort of interaction was inevitable.

She wondered if Antony was aware, and knowing the dipshit, he probably did. He loved comedies and dramas after all. She once caught him watching a mexican telenovela.

He denied the whole thing.

“Of course I did, little dude! It’s your first game.” she said, not being able to resist him and returning his smile. He had dimples! How hadn’t she noticed before? “I hope you don’t mind Cingerix is here too. He wanted to see you.”

Alex looked at her brother and smiled, awkwardly closing his hand into a fist and bumping it with the one the french boy was offering.

“Warmed up already?” he asked, to which Alex nodded, clearly proud of himself.

The child took their hands and tugged them along, chatting about how he was so excited because his parents were able to make it to one of the games at last.

Lysandra narrowed her eyes at Antony as they neared, and he only hid a laugh behind his hand. She didn’t even look at Fulvia in the eye.

“Hi.” she greeted them both.

“What’s this?” asked Fulvia, looking down at her son.

“I invited them.” answered Alex, as if saying ‘the sky’s blue’.

“And who gave you permission?”

“Dad said it was fine.” he shrugged.

Both Lysandra and Fulvia sent the man of the hour a murderous look, but he seemed to be having the time of his life.

“Hm. Very well.” she turned to her son. “Remember what I said: don’t hesitate. Don’t loose. Don’t talk to the other team.”

“But my friend Nick’s in the other team.”

“He’s not your friend until the game’s done.”   
Lysandra and her brother shared a look.

_ “She’s insane.” _ he mouthed.

“It’s just a friendly game.” Antony rolled his eyes, placing his hands in his pocket. “Let the boy have some fun.”

“How will he succeed in this if he doesn’t…” one side look from her husband shut her up.

Alex looked up at her, as if apologizing for his parents, and Lysandra gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“You go, little dude. We’ll be right here.”

He gave her one last quick hug and left, running to the other side of the field, where a group of kids with matching green and white uniforms were talking and playing around.

They stood there in an uncomfortable silence, waiting for the game to start.

“Well, I’ll go get a hot dog.” Cingerix announced.

“You had a big breakfast less than an hour ago.”

“I’m growing, Lysa.”he said like it was obvious. “Want something?”

She shook her head, and watched with contained fury as he practically skipped his way to the food stands.

He just wanted to get away, she was sure of it.

The kids went out to the field and took their positions. Alex waved from the left flank, and the game started.

They watched in silence for a few minutes. Fulvia followed her son’s moves closely with a critical eye, and Lysandra was a bit surprised that the woman wasn’t taking notes or anything of the sort. Her clear eyes were set on Alex, and she yelled at the referee when he didn’t took action when a kid from the other team pushed Alex to the grass.

Lysandra tried to pay attention to what was happening, but she could see Antony out of the corner of her eye, casually turning and walking; she lost him for a few moments, and then he was standing next to her, checking her out shamelessly.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” she said, as casual as she could.

Where the fuck was her brother? Did he go back to Paris to buy his damned hotdog?

“Me neither, but I managed to make some adjustments.”

She looked at him. He seemed tired, really tired. They hadn’t seen each other the previous night so she wasn’t sure if he had slept a bit (or if he had slept at all) nor did she know if he had had a proper meal.

“You look like shit.” she told him and he snorted in response, the warmth in his eyes making her look away.

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep much, nor well. In fact, I was very cold.”

She wanted to give him a good shove for talking like that so freely, but at the same time she wanted to wrap her arms around him and lay her head against his chest as they watched the game, like a regular couple.

“Would it kill you to be more discreet?” Fulvia asked through her teeth, still watching the game intently.

“No, but it’d bore me to death.”

“Please, do us the favour.”

Lysandra, once again, wanted to just be wiped out of existence, or shot in the head, or eaten by a giant bird; anything really, as long as she didn’t have to be standing right in between those two as they started an argument.

_ ‘Not that it should matter, really. I’ve been standing between them for some time now.’ _ she thought bitterly.

Cingerix came back with his hot dog and a bottle of water he offered to his sister.

“I figured you’d want that soon.”he shrugged, stepping between her and Fulvia.

Lysandra managed a little smile. He knew her quite well, better than what she gave him credit for.

The couple glared at each other and then turned back to the game.

Alex’s team scored a gol.

Fulvia’s phone rang.

“This idiot again.” she muttered, answering and walking away.

“PASS! PASS NUMBER FIVE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! NOOOO!” 

Lysandra sighed, not impressed by her brother’s antics. It was inherited really; everyone in her family (except her mother) could get a little too excited while watching football.

She jumped, being caught off guard by Antony’s new proximity. His arm was brushing hers.

“Where were you last night?”

“Composing. Trying to, at least.”she said, her answer being sincere although vague. She had something in the works, something big it seemed, and the man standing next to her had been her muse. “Why you ask? Did you miss me?”

“What a stupid question; of course I did.”

She felt his fingers at her hips, hooking around the waistband of her jeans and pulling her closer. She didn’t dare to look around, but hoped nobody was paying them attention.

“You should get used to it.” she said softly, looking up at him. “I’m going back to Poitiers soon.”

“Why?” he asked, suddenly guarded.

“To get educated. I’m trying to be a director, remember?”

“Oh, yes. You want to stand in front of talented people and move a stick around, like you’re having a stroke.”

She gave him a hip bump, but the smile remained in place.

“It’s a  _ baguette _ .” she said, her expression pretentious.

“Like the bread?”

“You know what? Forget it.”

They remained in silence for a few moments, watching the children running around.

God, she really wanted to get her hands on him, or vice versa, but since she couldn’t she hugged herself, hoping to resist temptation that way.

“So, what does that mean?” he asked softly, looking as the other team scored again.

She looked at him, but he kept his eyes on the game.

“I don’t know. What do you want?”

“What do  _ you  _ want?” he repeated her question, his eyes burning straight into her soul.

She swallowed, almost overwhelmed by his look.

“I wouldn’t mind a visit.” she said finally, not entirely sure it was a good idea to keep going with things but too weak to end anything.

“And what shall we do with the time in between, eh?”

“Uuuh, I don’t know.”she shrugged, her confidence returning momentarily. “Guess we’ll have to make the visits memorable.”

He chuckled.

“You’re looking for trouble.”

“Only the best kind.”

They both looked back to the game, and flinched when Alex went down to the grass.

Antony clapped.

“GET UP, ALEX! IT’S OKAY!”

But he didn’t got up.

A few boys walked back to him and tried to help him up, but he wailed when they touched him.

The game came to a pause and Antony leaped forward, running to the other side of the field. Sharing an uncertain and worried look, Lysandra and Cingerix followed, stopping at a few steps away.

Antony knelt by his son side and wrapped his arms underneath him as he wept inconsolable, quickly counting to three and sitting him up, closing his eyes for a moment when the child screamed, his right arm against his chest.

Antony sat him against his chest just as the coach got to them. Lysandra made herself aside when she heard Fulvia coming closer, and watched in silence as she leaned down to take a good look at Alex.

“What is it?”

Antony tried to touch Alex’s arm, but his screaming got louder and he retracted his hand as the child slapped him with his other hand. A doctor arrived and knelt by their side.

“I think it’s broken.” said Antony, and the doctor nodded, his expression grave.

“Yeah, we need to get him to a hospital.” he said softly, as Alex kept on sobbing, his face now red, with little spots of mud on his cheeks.

“Oh, great.” uttered Fulvia.

Alex hid his face on his father’s chest, and Antony gave his wife a warning glare.

The doctor got his phone out as Cingerix leaned up to whisper:

“This can’t get worse, can it?”

 

* * *

 

Lysandra was sure it was a bad idea, but she was also worried about Alex, so she got out of the taxi after paying the driver and telling him to keep the change, ignoring the rational part of her brain.

When she arrived at Alex’s room, the child was alone, staring blankly at the t.v above him in the corner.

He tried to put up a smile when he saw them.

“Hey, little dude; how’re you feeling?” Lysandra asked, nearing his bed with her brother in tow.

Alex shrugged, and lifted his now casted arm.

“It’s broken, but the doctor was nice and she gave me something for the pain.” he saw the bag in Lysandra’s hand. “Are those for me?”

“Why yes!” she hopped on the bed, smiling excitedly as Cinergix took the other side. “We thought we might get you a little something.”

She opened the bag and took out a Stitch plush. She remembered him mentioning that he liked the movie.

“We wanted to get the big one but someone else got to it first.”

Cingerix snorted.

“ _ She  _ wanted to get you the big one,  _ I  _ wanted to bring hot-wheels.”

Luckily, Alex’s eyes shone brightly as he reached out towards his new toy with his good arm.

“Thank you!” he screeched, taking the present from Lysa’s hands.

Cingerix offered him a smaller bag.

“We got gummy bears too.”

She looked around.

“Where are your parents?” she asked, although she had seen them already.

They were too busy having an argument with the doctor to notice the french siblings passing by them. From what Lysandra heard as she tried not to run to avoid them, Fulvia wanted to make extra tests on Alex and keep him under observation, and Antony thought she was being dramatic. The poor doctor had the bad luck to end up in between them, looking on the verge of a panic attack as the couple argued on each of her sides.

“Talking with the doctors.” Alex shrugged. “They put on the children’s channel but it’s boring.”

She looked up and saw they were transmitting what seemed like an episode of Peppa Pig. God, she wanted to punch the screen every time the damn pig was on.

“Want me to switch channels?” asked Cingerix, to which Alex shook his head. “And if I turn it off?”

“Please.”

Alex looked down at his broken arm and sighed sadly. Lysandra gave his knee a little squeeze.

“Hey, it’s not so bad! It’ll heal, and in the meantime, you could probably get away with anything. Just use the arm, I’ve seen it work.”

“But can I play piano?”

She winced.

“Well, yes, but only with your left hand.”

His expression fell, and he kept his dark eyes on the cast.

“Oh, okay.” he breathed out softly. He bit his lip. “Mom said I can’t go to class with you anymore.”

Lysandra was surprised that didn’t happen sooner. 

“Make sure to get a good teacher when your arm is better.”

He looked up, an odd look on his face.

“You’re not mad at me?”

She didn’t hide her laughter.

“Of course not, little dude! But I  _ will  _ miss my favourite student.”

“And the only one.”

Lysandra glared at her brother.

“Didn’t you say you were hungry again?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Can I go to the McDonalds I saw on…?”

“No. Stay inside the building.”

“But it’s only like, three blocks away.”

“I’m serious.” she protested, her expression firm.

Reluctantly, Cingerix nodded and promised to bring her some coffee.

“Lizzie, can you open this?”

She turned to find Alex holding up the bag of gummy bears her brother had bought for him, and took it gently, making sure to open it carefully and not cause a mess.

Alex took a red one and bit its head off, and when he offered Lysandra she rejected him kindly, making a small conversation instead.

She asked him about his football team, and his friends at school. He said he didn’t want to play at first, but his mom insisted that he practiced a sport, and in the end he liked it, but he was always on the bench, and that made them both upset.

It was really great that he finally got a chance to play, and he was sad because he had let his dad down.

She tried to comfort him, but he didn’t seem to want to hear it from her, naturally.

He hugged the Stitch plush and closed his eyes, and was asleep immediately.

It was probably a good time to leave, but she felt a bit uncertain leaving him alone, and her brother hadn’t returned from the cafeteria.

Because that was her day, the door opened, and Antony and Fulvia walked in, still in an argument. They stopped for a moment when they saw her sitting at the edge of the bed, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

_ ‘It was such a terrible idea to come.’ _

Fulvia scowled at the sight of her, and Lysandra stood up slowly, trying not to disturb the child. She wasn’t sure why her mother insisted on making him stay the night when the doctors already told her he was good to go home, but she wasn’t about to question her, and neither the doctors it seemed.

“Oh, great! You’re here too.” she hissed, while Antony tried to hush her, giving his son a brief look. 

“Fulvia, enough!” he whispered harshly, grabbing her by the arm. “You’ll wake him.”

She gave her husband a murderous look, but seemed to come to her senses and went back outside.

Lysandra followed slowly. How she wished the day would end or the earth would open up and swallow her whole already.

Antony closed the door behind him, looking even more done than she did.

Fulvia spun around, setting her icy eyes on her.

“Must you always be around?” she asked, sounding more annoyed than hurt. “As if it isn’t enough you’re stealing my husband most days, now you have to get into my son’s head as well.”

Lysandra opened her mouth, but at first, no sound came out.

“I-I’m not,...Look, I just wanted to make sure he was fine.” she said honestly, trying to maintain the peace for once.

“Oh, please!” Fulvia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you.” she rose an accusatory finger at her. “You just started all this stupid music lesson thing so you’d get a chance to fuck around with him.” she finished, pointing at Antony, who was tiredly leaning against the wall behind Lysandra.

She swallowed, not sure how to answer.

“He was alone,”she said slowly, the shame creeping up. Yes, she had made the offer with that in mind, and yes, she felt terrible about it; but she cared about Alex, and she was only planning on making sure he was fine when she walked into the hospital, but then she had seen Antony and Fulvia arguing amongst themselves and with the doctor and decided to keep him entertained for a little while. “and I just, I didn’t want to leave him like that. I wanted to make sure he was alright.”

Fulvia narrowed her eyes.

“And you expect me to believe you?” she asked, her voice like steel. “You use him like a pawn in your little game to turn him against me.”

She rose an incredulous eyebrow.

“You had him to boost up Antony’s career.” she spit out, not believing the nerve of the woman.

“Stop it. Both of you.” Antony spoke behind them, massaging his temples.

It was true though. He had told her how Alex hadn’t been planned, and how Fulvia wanted to get rid of him, alleging a child would only get in the way when Antony convinced her it’d be for the better. The people loved children.

“I’m his mother! You’re just his father’s little toy!”she said, the bitterness on her voice transmitting into the french woman. “Antony will get tired of you, or you of him, and Alex won’t see you anymore! He will ask questions, and he’ll see you for the snake you are.”

The pill was hard to swallow, and she was choking on it.

Those were things Lysandra hadn’t wanted to think about, and having Fulvia of all people slapping her in the face with them, right in front of Antony no less, simply felt like utter humiliation.

She wanted to say something hurtful back, but found that if she opened her mouth, her voice would break and her eyes would water.

Fulvia nodded in the direction she had come from.

“Just leave already, girl.”

Lysandra turned and looked at Antony, who seemed to be done with the world. Wearily, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Just go.” he said, exhausted.

Lysandra looked up front and saw Cingerix approaching slowly, holding two plastic cups with coffee no doubt, holding his comic under his arm carefully.

She set her eyes on her brother, and put all her focus on him.

That was all that mattered, getting to him. One thing at a time.

She put a foot in front of the other, and then repeated, and gained speed as she went.

Part of her ached for Antony to go and stop her, or to leave with her, but she knew he’d want to stay with his son.

She listened carefully, and the tears blurred her vision when she didn’t hear him coming.

She walked faster, and clumsily took the cups from Cingerix.

He looked up, taken by surprise.

“Hey,...woah, are you okay?”

“C’mon.”

She kept on walking, and thankfully he followed without question, his hand softly wrapping around one of her arms and not letting go.

* * *

 

If her parents noticed something wrong with  her during dinner, they didn’t say anything, and instead talked with Cingerix about the new private school he was to attend.

Lysandra didn’t make a single comment, she didn’t really had the strength to engage in conversation, but silently hoped her brother would make new friends. He didn’t say anything, but she knew he was having a hard time, especially since they moved to Rome right as summer started and he didn’t get a chance to meet anyone.

Her mother went to sleep soon after; she had to get up early the next day to go to some fundraiser. Cingerix went up to his room to try his new video game, and even went as far as to ask his sister if she wanted to play with him (she really must have looked like shit if he was willing to let her near his pristine playstation, because if there was one thing Cingerix took good care of, was that silly little black box).Her father locked himself in his study just as she did the same across from him, in her music room.

She sat at her piano and stared at the papers in front of her, a work in progress, with small notes on the edges and full measures scratched angrily. She huffed. 

And then people thought her future job was easy.

She put her elbow on the keys and rested her chin on her hand, the other playing some random keys. She smiled tiredly when she noticed she had been playing a small section of a waltz by Shostakovich.

She stopped and got up, walking around the room as she tried to think of anything but the events of the day.

Antony said there was no-one to worry about, but he meant that there were no other  _ women  _ she should concern herself with. Alex was a whole different matter, one they never discussed, and even though she understood why it was different, it didn’t mean she had to like it.

And why had all of that shit show taken place? Because she was a horny little slut with no morals.

God, her parents would be so disappointed.

She sat in front of the harp and carefully moved until the instrument was between her legs. She checked the music stand, nodding to herself when she noticed she had pencils and a stave book already open there. She had a bunch of those laying around the house in case something came to mind.

She didn’t think too hard on it and carefully fixed her right shoulder under the instrument and moved her hands around, shaking them, trying to relax.

She placed her fingers on the strings and started to play, a melody coming into her head immediately, just a few seconds before she reproduced the sound.

If anybody entered the room they would’ve thought her crazy, watching her playing a few notes, stopping to talk to herself and writing something down before playing a few more and repeating the pattern, reproducing pleased sounds and frustrated growls left and right.

Lysandra wasn’t sure how long she sat there, playing, but when her brain dried itself and she stood up, her ass hurt and so did her back and shoulder.

She left the music room and saw the lights on her father’s study were off, meaning that he must have gone to bed already.

She bit her lip, staring at the carpeted stairs. Did she want to sleep in her own bed all alone?

No, of course she didn’t. The chances of Antony being in his villa were low, near non-existent in her opinion, but at least she’d feel closer to him there.

She truly was an idiot.

She grabbed her keys, phone and purse and left as quietly as she could.

* * *

 

She awakened sometime later, near three in the morning, to the feeling of someone running a hand through her hair.

She rubbed her eyes and looked up to find Antony sitting on the edge of the bed, looking serene as he stared at her.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked. Lysandra nodded. “It looks better on you.”   
She didn’t smile, but took the hand that was in her hair and laced her fingers with his.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked softly.

He snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” he said softly. “I’d lock you up in here forever if I could.”

“That’s called kidnapping.”

“Don’t you watch t.v? Apparently it’s romantic.”

She giggled, and Antony smiled at her, the fatigue dissipating slightly as he pinched her cheek. She slapped his hand away and stared at him.

Taking a deep breath, she said:

“I’m sorry about Alex.”

She was. She never meant to hurt him, and if she was being honest, she hadn’t thought her actions through. Somehow, it was easier to apologize to him than to Fulvia, not that she would ever do such a thing. She still had some pride left.

Antony contemplated her, then leaned down, using his forearm for support. He moved some hair from her face, his thumb staying, caressing the outline of her eyebrow.

“It’s not like I didn’t know what you were doing.” he said. “Hell, I even encouraged it.”

Lysandra hummed, thinking about it.

“We’re shitty people.” she said finally.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her.

“Believe me, we could be worse.”

She wrapped her arms around him and sighed, finally being able to relax now that everything seemed to be fine; fine between them at least.

Lysandra kicked the sheets as Antony got rid of his shoes, and he pulled the fabric up again and made himself at home in her arms, half of his body on top of hers.

Lysandra stared at him, their faces so close their breaths mingled, and she slowly caressed his face.

“Just go to sleep.”

He closed his eyes, his hold on her tightening, and she turned off the lights and held on to him, wishing she could freeze time.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**The Other Woman**

**Part XII**

  
  


The first time Antony saw Lysandra, he thought: _ “I’m not letting you go again.”  _ and was puzzled by the thought, though that didn’t stop him from approaching her, something in him making short-circuit and setting him on fire as soon as he saw her, hurriedly heading towards the bar, looking like a deadly mermaid in her red gown.

Without really giving his body consent, he moved forward, leaving his wife mid-sentence and ignoring the idio-...the colleagues that tried to establish a conversation, his sole goal that of getting to her.

He heard her voice before he saw her face, and it sounded awkward, the words coming out in forced cut pieces, something that let him know she wasn't a native. She was probably the daughter of the new French ambassador; he knew the man had arrived to the country barely three days prior to the party, and there were no other foreign functionary who was just starting on the job.

He snorted when the bartender didn't seem to understand her words. Honestly, the accent was thick but far from indecipherable.

He admonished the man, leaning against the bar to get a good look at her profile, and smiling in satisfaction at the perfection of it.

Then she turned to look at him, and his heart raced and his hand started to itch, his body screaming at him to pull her close and not let her go, ever.

* * *

 

He thought that once he had her, he could go on his way, as he often did with his little rendez-vous; but instead he found himself plagued by thoughts of her, and the memory of her touch.

He had to admit he’s surprised he caught her so quickly, and usually he was satisfied when the chase was fast, that meant he could go back to his daily routine faster, but now he wanted her again.

He kept calling her, and she kept answering. They met at any sort of time, their sleep schedule be damned. He needed her, and he couldn’t go more than a few hours without being in her presence, like a hopeless addict.

He missed her.

He felt like he missed her and was making up for lost time.

It was absolutely ridiculous; he was risking his career and probably even her future one by meeting so often, by being so careless, but he needed her and she needed him, and once she was there, intoxicating him with her flowery scent of a nymph, he tended to forget about all that was at risk.

It scared him, he had to admit. He barely knew her, yet it was like a lifetime had been spent together, and a hundred apart.

She seemed to need him as much, and that was a small relief.

They drunk up on each other like well versed alcoholics.

He moved her hair away from her face, finding a breathless smile on her lips as she watched him, her face glistening with sweat and moonlight.

Just as out of breath, he looked into her warm eyes. 

She smiled. The smile was new, and it came off a bit tentative, as if she were unsure of how it would be well received.

Antony felt like his heart would burst out of his chest, the pounding of it clouding his senses. Feeling the need of holding on tighter, he let his weight fall on her, and his nose brushed its way up hers.

For the first time in who knew how long, he was at peace.

 

* * *

 

Lysandra wasn’t a good woman, but he liked that about her.

He saw her and her brother talking to Alex and let them be for a while, but went on to take the child with him after a few minutes, not wanting to disturb her.

Alex didn’t keep his mouth shut and spoke of the instrument lessons his stupid school asked of him, and he was surprised when Lysandra offered to teach him.

He didn’t know she played an instrument.

Their eyes met and he knew then that she wasn’t offering out of the goodness of her heart.

Antony loved his son more than anything, the only good thing he loved. He sometimes went out of his way to ensure he had a better, safer life; he shouldn’t condone Lysandra using him as means to see him.

But he smirked nonetheless. The little snake she was.

God, he wanted to take her again.

Instead of putting a stop to her behaviour, he let the decision rest on Alex’s shoulders. There couldn’t be fault on him if he didn’t know what was happening.

He agreed, so Antony conceaded.

* * *

 

Caesar didn’t approve, and neither did Fulvia, but her opinion hadn’t been of importance to Antony for a long time.

Antony understood his friend worries. The elections were less than a year away, and they didn’t want the parliament turning on them. The people may not choose the president, but their opinions mattered, and nobody would support Caesar if he had close ties with someone involved in a case of infidelity.

He brushed it off, assuring him that he was being careful, and he was.

He no longer took her to some hotel he had dirt on to spend their long nights (he felt guilt every time he did, something he was unaccustomed to), but rather gave her a key to his villa.

Caesar rose an eyebrow at that information. He knew that was Antony safe place, where he spent most of his time when Fulvia became too much to bear, meaning that he spent most days tucked away in that place unless Alex needed him. 

Antony didn’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t him was on that place. It was big, and he took care of the maintenance of the rooms he frequented; most of his clothes were there, as where all of his delicate documents, those that could ruin him.

Why had he trusted her with that place? He wasn’t so sure, but ever since he gave her access, his days seemed to become longer and his nights shorter. It was like being on his least favourite class all over, when the minutes dragged on like years, and the recess was but a blink.

The time with her seemed short, but he looked forward to going back home and find her there (hopefully away from the kitchen) waiting for him, bored out of her mind.

He tended to find her in the couch, legs up and head hanging down as she watched some girly movie.

He leaned against the doorframe and waited for her to notice him, something that never took long. Just a few seconds at best, and her eyes deviated from the t.v screen to his face, and she would smile, turning around and rising to her feet, laughing when he took her in his arms and pressed her against the wall.

He didn’t know when he began to associate the villa with the word ‘home’, but it certainly wasn’t before her.

* * *

 

“Alright, I’m curious.” he sighed, putting down the solicitude he was reading and looking at Lysandra. “What exactly are you doing?”

It was a sunday afternoon, and as it often happened with that day of the week, time went by slower. 

They had been spending the entire weekend together. Alex was camping with his friend Nico’s family, and apparently, Lysandra was supposed to be in Paris with her crazy best friend, the one who threatened Antony in slow, casual french with a swiss knife.

They had met in the villa on friday, meaning she had been there already when he arrived at night, and refused to leave the bed until that day, right in time for a light lunch he prepared under her heated eyes.

He got around to real life again (sort of), and took some of the work he had neglected while Lysandra kept him company. The dining room was silent, but it was the most comfortable he had been with her, at least the most comfortable that didn’t involve anything of a sexual nature.

After a while, she had left and returned with a stack of papers and a laptop that had a big sticker that read “Burn Book” on it. He didn’t understand the reference. She sat down at the table, far enough that his papers wouldn’t mix with hers, but close enough that she could still put her feet up on his lap, and got to work herself, looking at the papers and writing something on the screen, her eyebrows almost touching in concentration as she stared at the screen.

This went on for a long while, and at times she seemed to completely forget the papers and just typed away, clicking on who knew what like crazy and looking all over the screen like someone trying to find a stain on a sterile room.

He pulled on her earbuds out and she looked at him with surprise. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she had forgotten his presence.

“What?”

“What are you doing? You look possessed.”

She looked at the screen and then at the papers, and pointed at them with her hand, like it was obvious.

“Transcribing.” was all she said as she attempted to put her earbuds on again.

He didn’t let her, and she looked irritated as he gazed at the handwritten music sheets.

“What’s this?” he asked her, picking up one of the papers and looking it over.

He didn’t understand anything. Someone could burst through the door, speaking a dead language and it’d be much easier than reading that.

Lysandra got up.

“That clef is Do in third.”

“What?”

She giggled, pointing at small space between the third and fourth line.

“See this space?” he nodded. “If this were Sol clef, you’d find Do there and here, with a line across from it.”

“Alright.” he nodded, as she pointed at another note underneath the first line.

“But this is Do in third, so every note moves one place down. Half a tone.” she explained, her head resting against his arm. “This is a clef used for violas, trombone, some flutes too.”

“Don’t they use the same one? The pretty one.”

He was genuinely curious, for fuck’s sake. He had never shown great interest in music. He listened to it sometimes, like most people did, but never cared about the process a song went through before being sung. It seemed so easy to do when one listened to it or saw it performed, seeing all those dots and lines on the paper were making him reconsider.

Besides, he knew Lysandra wanted to be a director, and he wanted to know about her.

She giggled, kissing his arm before resting her head there again.

“Sol clef, you mean?” she shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, people are abandoning the others and accommodating to that one, but for some instruments it’s not practical.”

“How many clefs do you read?”

“All of them.”

“How many are there?”

“On orchestras?” she shrugged. “Around seven. It all depends on the time period of the piece, but that’s the standard.”

His socks dropped. Seven?

“You have to learn them all?”

“Yeah.” she sat down again, and opened a file. He leaned down and swallowed, seeing all the work she had been doing. Next to every clef there was a name of an instrument, and just a few measure bars took the whole page. “So, that in the paper is what the viola reads and this,” she pointed at the screen. “Is what I’m reading at the same time.”

“All of that?”

“Yes.”

“At once?”

She tried to hide her amusement.

“Yes, Antony, all at once. But don’t worry, I’m used to it. I’ve had years to practice.”

“Uh-huh.” he kept on looking at the screen. Some bars were empty, and as she scrolled down to where she had left off he saw that they incorporated later on.

“This one starts with a harp, then strings, and the clarinets join in here.” she  pointed at everything and he nodded, even if he didn’t understand it very well...he didn’t get it at all.

Lysandra got excited and started to talk  about what she was composing at the moment, and how she was considering presenting it for a contest if her favourite professor approved of it. She told him that yes, even people involved in ‘music for old people’ had contests, and very important ones. She also showed him a little on a program where she had been giving her creation some sound; but she was talking about the process so much he couldn’t really hear anything but her voice. He smiled as she rambled, her eyes shining so brightly it was impossible to not be transmitted with her joy

“I’m still not sure about the bow movements for the cellos, but I…”

She stopped mid-sentence when he leaned down and kissed her cheek, frozen in place.

She coughed.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” he smiled, placing her papers down carefully and going back to his side of the table, picking up his own. Finally, something he could read.

They made eye contact and she looked away quickly, going back into her own world.

* * *

 

Alex missed Lysandra, and Antony couldn’t blame him. He kept on seeing her regularly, but Alex couldn’t go to his classes anymore. He couldn’t play outside as much either, being the clumsy boy he was, so prone to falling, Fulvia didn’t want him running around, and Antony had to agree with her for once. The last thing Alex needed was to fall over his broken arm once more.

It was a rare night when the three of them were home. Fulvia was on her study, working on a case, Alex was in his room watching a movie or playing with his legos, and Antony was on his own study, going over the reports his people had brought him on the senators he and Caesar would have to bribe to win the elections.

Someone knocked on the door, and before he could invite the person in, it opened and his son’s head popped through.

Antony placed the papers on a folder and then on a briefcase, making a mental note to take them to the villa later and keep them there.

“Dad?”

“What’s the matter, Alex? I’ve told you not to interrupt when I’m working.” he admonished gently.

Alex nodded, and only came in when his father invited him with a gesture of his hand.

The cast was uncomfortable, Antony noticed, as he watched how Alex tried not to scratch his arm.

He came around his desk and Antony pushed his chair back, letting him climb onto his lap. Alex leaned against his chest and hugged him, and Antony kissed his head, his hand resting on his small shoulder.

“What is it? Something hurts?”

Alex shook his head.

“Did you have a nightmare? Are you hungry?”

He shook his head again, and mumbled something onto his father’s chest.

“What was that?”

A small hiccup escaped him.

“I miss Lizzie.” he lamented.

It took Antony a few moments to realize he talked about Lysandra. He hadn’t heard that nickname before, and figured his son must have baptized her with it.

“Do you want to take up your classes again?” he asked.

Lysandra had warned him about Alex, and told him to watch out in case he tried to play with his broken arm. “It’ll only be worse.” she had said.

“Yes.” he cried. “I liked going there. She gave me cookies and hung my drawings on her room. And her cat! She let me play with Sabrina. And her brother let me use his wii!”

Antony wasn’t surprised he had gotten so familiar with the Subercaseaux siblings, seeing as how most of the time he wasn’t on time to pick him up. He felt bad about it; Lysandra had offered to teach him piano not to babysit, but she always said that she didn’t mind, that the boy was a delight anyways.

It was a pity he couldn’t continue playing. He could still go and play with his healthy hand, but Fulvia had had enough of the new friendship Alex had formed, and even though Antony tried to fight her on it, she won at the end. Bringing up some past doings that would compromise him.

_ ‘I didn’t leak those pictures anyway’ _ he thought  _ ‘I just gave them to someone who gave them to someone who gave them to someone who paid a stranger and followed them to make sure they left them at the door of a reporter.’ _

But even though he doubted that anyone would believe or care if he had part on the sex scandal of an Education Minister who hadn’t been in office in over a decade, he didn’t want to risk it.

How Fulvia came to possess that information, he still didn’t know, but he would soon. Half of her team debriefed him of everything anyways, and she had her nose so buried in the constitution she didn’t notice.

He rubbed his son’s back.

“I’m sorry, but you know you can’t play like that.” he pointed at the broken arm. “And besides, Lysandra will be going back to France soon.”

Two weeks was all they had before she left.

That didn’t help Alex, and the wailing got loud.

“Hey, hey, stop. It’s ok, don’t cry.” Antony rubbed at his eyes, the sleep deprivation forgotten as he picked up his cellphone. “Here. Why don’t you call her?”

He went to the speed dial and pressed the screen. Alex’s sobs stopped immediately as her name taking up the screen with big letters.

Carefully, the child took the phone and pressed it to his ear, using the hem of his turtle pajamas to clean his nose.

Antony gave him a tissue, but ended up cleaning him himself when Alex did a terrible job.

He heard the beeping stop.

“Lizzie?” Alex spoke softly.

Antony couldn’t hear what was being said, but Alex started to sway his legs back and forth, just a bit more calm.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and waited as she answered. He looked up at him then, uncertainty. Antony smiled. “I’m with dad. He’s tired and says hi.” he looked back down, tracing one of the turtles on his pants. “I miss you.”

Antony expected Alex to get up and leave the room, but instead he made himself comfortable in his arms again, leaning back against his chest as he listened to whatever Lysandra was telling him.

Sighing, he passed on to  _ safer  _ matters, smiling to himself from time to time when Alex laughed on when Lysandra’s own laughter found its way through the phone and into his study.

He could easily picture her sitting next to him, tucked under his arm as Alex tried to steal her attention from him.

This kept on going on for days. Agustina, a small woman on her sixties who took care of everything in the house including Alex, told him how he called Lysandra more than once a day.

Antony spoke to her, but she assured him she didn’t mind the distraction.

“He’s funny.” she had said, playing around with his fingers. She was laying on her back, the soft sheets covering her up to her chest as she laid on his side, admiring the reflection of the moon on her delicate features. “And I missed him as well. Don’t worry, he’s not a bother, really. Even Cingerix likes to talk to him.”

She turned to him then, her eyes sparkling and her muscles contracting on a smile.

“He’s got more charm than you, you know.”

Instead of being offended, he smiled as well.

“Evolution. The sons tends to be a better version of the father.”

She snorted, but nodded in agreement nonetheless.

He wanted to ask her to stay. There were perfectly suitable music schools and conservatories in Italy, and they’d be closer that way.

But he swallowed the question back and took her arm instead, putting her on her side and pressing his chest against her naked back, kissing her neck and arm as his hands found her breasts and he took her again.

He didn’t want to let her go, but if he tried to make her stay he’d only push her away.

The best he could do was enjoy her while she was there, and pray she wouldn’t grow bored of waiting in the time between a visit and another.

He made sure they both came at the same time, and as she panted into the pillow, he held her tighter and let go of the question, not showing what was burning him so.

* * *

 

Alex asked him to take him to see Lysandra off at the airport, and against his better judgment, he took him.

It was tortured for him. Her parents and brother were there, and so was the girl that prick Aquila was engaged to.

He watched as Lysandra hugged the girl tight and gave her a small square wrapped in red paper. The girl nodded, and Lysandra squeezed her hands before letting go.

She avoided his eyes as she knelt by Alex and took his small hands, smiling reassuringly.

“Don’t cry, little dude! We can still talk on the phone, or skype, and I’ll be back for christmas. We can arrange a playdate if you want.”

“Really?” Alex asked, his eyes red and puffy.

She looked up to him.

“Sure.”he said, his heart clenching.

She said some more things to his son but Antony didn’t hear them.

He placed his hands on the kid’s shoulders and held on to him, otherwise he would do something stupid, like take her in his arms and kiss her in front of everybody.

She rose up to her feet, and for a moment deviated her eyes to her parents, standing behind him.

“I have a new shirt.” she said plainly.

He rose an eyebrow.

“Do you know? I bet you look beautiful in it.”

“I do, even though the size’s wrong and its too big.”

“You’re covered in case you gain weight.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, he returned the action, softer this time.

She bit her lip, and her eyes suddenly glistened with tears.

“Goodbye.” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything, but nodded, his hold on Alex tightening.

She went to her brother and messed up his hair before hugging him, and then she hugged her parents for the third time.

Antony watched her with a lump in his throat, Alex held securely in his arms, small legs wrapped around his waist as he sniffed softly. Antony patted his back but said nothing to try and comfort him.

He didn’t speak, otherwise he’ll ask her.

She took her handbag and walked away, her back stiff, and didn’t look back.

* * *

 

He talked with her everyday. His phone bill was near the skies, but it didn’t matter, he just wanted to hear her voice.

The time difference between France and Italy wasn’t big, thankfully, so coordinating the calls was a simple affair.

He told her about his work, and Alex’s nervousness about starting school but that he was doing fine. She told him about her classes, and how she had a date set so she could show her professor her work and get or not the approval to present to the contest.

He missed her, and he wanted to see her. She wanted to see him too, but with how hectic life could get and the assignments and tests piling up on her plate they hadn’t been able to see each other in person.

He missed her hands running through his hair and her nails scratching his back. He couldn’t see the marks anymore, and found that he missed the slightly stinging lines. He missed the feel of her sweaty, hot form underneath him, of her thighs brushing against his hips and up his waist. He missed her moans and gasps in his ear, and her lips across his chest.

He didn’t even entertain the thought of going to someone else for the night, or even trying to see if Fulvia would be up for a quickie; it wouldn’t be the same. He didn’t need to try to know he wouldn’t be satisfied.

He wanted Lysandra, but the only things he had were the few clothes she left behind, the red thong she had hidden on the pocket of one of his suit pants (he found out at the worst moment, and got a few odd looks from some Deputies of the Forza Italia. Not that he cared), and her scent on his pillows.

The scent died after a few days, and with it died his peaceful rest. 

His phone rang one night. It was thursday already, and he’d have to be up in less than four hours but couldn’t sleep.

Antony took the call, and wasn’t surprised to find out it was Lysandra. It seemed she couldn’t sleep either.

“I’m lonely.” she had said, her voice melow.

She talked, her voice sultry, and it didn’t take long to get his hands on his dick. His hand and his member hadn’t been so close since he was but a teen.

He talked back to her, and closed his eyes when his response was some ragged breathing, his hand moving faster, imagining she was right there next to him, on top of him, instead of one country away.

They talked some more afterwards, and at one point she stopped answering, and Antony assumed she must’ve fallen asleep. 

He hung up the phone, and rest found him easily.

* * *

 

“I’m thinking of going over this weekend.” he told her over the phone one day.

“Uh, I don’t, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” she said, sounding off.

She had sounded strange since she picked up the phone, thought he could tell she was trying to hide it.

Antony felt hurt.

“Oh? You said you wanted me to visit.”

“Yeah, I did. I do,..but I won’t be home this weekend.” she sighed, and he waited as he heard her moving around. He heard a zipper being moved and then she sighed again. “I have to go to Grasse, something came up.”

“Is everything alright? Are you alright? Did something happen?”

He couldn’t help but worry; he didn’t like the way she sounded so exhausted, how her enthusiasm was so obviously forced.

“It’s-it’s my cousin.” she whispered into the phone breathlessly. “He, uh, he died.”

Antony took in a deep breath. She had a few cousins, this he knew. She talked a bit about them, not much, and briefly mentioned one of her cousins had cancer, leukemia if he recall correctly.

He remembered talking about how everybody expected the boy to be fine, even the doctors.

“Oh, I’m,...” what could he say? That he was sorry? He was, but that wasn’t going to fix it. “I’m sorry.” he said it anyways, hoping that coming from him it’d mean something, anything. “Are you,...? Nevermind, of course not.”

She laughed, and when she did he noticed she was also crying.

“I’ll be fine, thanks love.”she answered shakily, and he could almost see her wiping her tears. “It’s just, I thought he’d be fine. I really did.” Antony didn’t say anything, and let her rant all she wanted, aching to be near so he could hold her and wipe her cheeks. “It’s not fair! He was so smart, and good. He was so good, Antony!” she sobbed into the phone, her broken voice breaking him. His own eyes teared up. “Why?! Why?! It’s not fair! He didn’t deserve it!”

He let her rant, and listened in mostly silence as she lamented for her uncle and his other two children. She told him how everyone in her family was good except her, and if anybody deserved such a death it was her, not her cousin.

“Don’t say that.” he interrupted harshly, fist slamming against his desk and teeth clenching “Never again. Don’t even think about it.”

He could hear how she tried to control her whipping.

“But,...”

“No. It’s not true.” he insisted, softer. God, he wanted to be there with her. He cursed their needed secrecy. Who would hold her at the funeral? “Breathe deeply. Take a warm bath and drink tea. Take a nap or watch some of those movies you like. It will be fine, and I’ll be there as soon as I can, eh?”

“...Yes. But don’t hang up, please?”

“Of course not, gattina.”

He knew she smiled, he just knew it. Or maybe not, but he needed to believe it.

He wrote notes for his next meeting as she went on and did as he told her. They didn’t speak at all, but the small sounds coming from their end of the phone was enough to calm them down. He could even pretend they were under the same roof.

After a while, she spoke, her voice muffled and distant.

“A car’s here to take me to Nantes. I’ll take a plane to Marseille there.”

“And then?”

“Another plane to Grasse.” she waited a moment and added: “My father can’t go, but maman and Cingerix will be there, and so will Mariette and Geoff.”

He nodded, internally relieved to know her brother and friends would be there. It was good knowing she wouldn’t be alone.

“I wish you could come.” she confessed, taking  him off guard. “I’d like to show you the city.”

He smiled, barely.

“Some other time. On a happier day.”

“Yes. A happier day.”

* * *

 

After he knocked on the door for the third time, Antony grew impatient.

He took his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed her number, feeling more like a fool by the second.

“Hello?” he heard her confused voice.

“Are you home?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Then what in the holy fuck is taking so long?” he growled more than asked, glaring at the dark wood.

“What?”

“Open the door, woman.”

He hung up on her, and a few seconds later the sound of light footsteps reached his ears.

The door was yanked open, and Lysandra stood there, staring with wide eyes.

Antony stepped forward, taking her face with both hands and kissing her urgently.

It took a few moments, but then she got over her stupor and returned his kiss with the same need.

He shouldn’t be there. He had things to do, and it wasn’t safe for either of them when the travelled like that, without announcement or escort, especially with the elections less than a year away.

But goddamn it, he missed her.

Antony kicked the door shut, and as one of his hands tangled itself in her hair, the other snuck around her waist, pulling her against him.

Her smell intoxicated him, and her hands tried to tug on his shirt as he walked ahead, guiding her blindly.

She gave up on his shirt, and moved on instead to his belt.

They fell over on the couch, and Antony barely had the restraint to make sure she was well accommodated.

Lysandra managed to undo his belt and pull his pants down, and he took hold of her, opening her legs and hastily making her green shorts aside before sliding inside of her.

They both gasped at the sensation, and not missing a beat, he started moving in and out, her warmth and the barely there friction of the fabric against him threatening to send him over the edge embarrassingly soon.

“I mi,...Aaaah!” she held him close, her hands travelling under his shirt and up his back. “I missed you.” she managed to breath out, closing her eyes and throwing her head back, her hips rising to meet him thrust by thrust.

He felt her tightening around him, and Antony tried to think of something else for some moments as he made sure she reached her orgasm before speeding up and cumming himself, pushing them both further into the couch.

They stayed there for a few moments. His legs shook a little, if it was due to the unnatural position he had just been in or the sex in itself he wasn’t sure, but her panting underneath him made him choose to believe it was the first option.

He kissed her shoulder.

“I missed you too, gattina.”

* * *

 

She was almost asleep when she let it slip.

The exhaustion won’t stop them from another round though. 

Their eyes were closed at that point, their movements much more lazy but as needy as the first round.

He was kissing his way across her jaw and into her neck, and she pressed her nose to his cheek.

“I love you.” she whispered, dreamily but clearly.

This woke them both. 

He pulled back to look at her, and she opened his eyes and stared right back, unafraid.

His thumb ran across her cheekbone.

Did she really?

He smiled, and the smile although honest, felt foreign on his face.

He guessed that must be a new smile, one just for her, like so many others.

She placed both hands on each side of his face and slightly pulled him down.

“I love you.” she repeated, her voice at the same volume but more intense.

He kissed her again, and made her his again, and again, and again.

* * *

 

He didn’t remember when they fell asleep, but when he awoke, he can tell it’s past midday. His head was resting above her breasts, and he gave himself a few minutes of just feeling her slow breathing and steady heartbeat before he got up.

He stretched and groaned, tired but invigorated at the same time, and got up, not ashamed of his nakedness as he strode across the place.

Antony left the room quietly, closing the door behind him, and walked down the short, narrow hallway, emerging into the living room. He looked around taking it in.

To his right there were tall, thin windows, the  just as long shutters pushed back to let the sunlight in. There was a couch with a big blanket over it, a small coffee table, but it was so full of papers and books he couldn’t tell what it was made of, and a t.v against the wall.

On the corner there was a fancy electric piano. It was black and the booth long and on the music rack rested a pair of big, green headphones. Next to the booth there was a small nightstand (that explained why there was only one in her room) full of scratched papers. No doubt she didn’t have enough space on the rack.

The walls were of a careless white, and the wall behind the couch was full of pictures. Antony neared them, careful of the harp in the other corner. Some pictures were of her parents, there were a few of her brother, and some other with more people. The oldest people on those pictures shared a resemblance with Victus, so he guessed those where her aunt and uncle, and the other, younger strangers her cousins. He wondered, briefly, which was the one who had died. There were two girls and two boys, so one of the latter was the lost one. He moved on to the next, smiling in endearment as he realized it was Lysandra as a child. She was dressed as a witch, carrying a baby in her arms, probably Cingerix. She smiled for the camera as if saying ‘take this thing away from me!’. There were pictures of her with what seemed a friend group (he recognized Mariette in all of those), but most were of the two women and another man, tall, think with brown hair. That must be Geoff. He was often the one smiling like a normal human being, while Mariette did something inappropriate in most pictures; in some, Lysandra was clearly laughing at her, in other she was looking resigned. In one, the three of them were smiling, looking mundane, and no older than ten as they held each other’s hands and Lysandra and Mariette waved at the camera.

He had to chuckle when he saw the next one. Another halloween picture, but she was older. She was terrifying as a corpse bride, while Mariette was dressed up as a playboy bunny and Geoff a Quarterback. Lysandra was staring at the camera with her arms crossed while Mariette seemed aloof, running a hand through Geoff’s hair as he stared with his mouth agape.

He turned and picked up his pants from the floor, hastily putting them on and heading to the fridge. Lysandra wasn’t going to feed him, and it was better that she didn’t.

The kitchen was in the same space as the living room, a white kitchen bar with wooden top separating the two. There was a bowl of fruits on it, and Lysandra’s laptop was abandoned there as well. 

Antony opened the fridge and was surprised to find real, fresh products. Satisfied with the discovery, he set himself to work.

* * *

  
  


He tried to visit as much as he could. 

He’d spend the weekends with her, rarely leaving the comfort he found between her legs to take the time of moving elsewhere and take her then.

On the few times they untangled from each other, they talked, and Lysandra even showed him some parts of the city she frequented. She seemed happy when he was there, and he was glad to be there.

She hadn’t said it again,  _ the  _ words, but he didn’t need to hear it everyday to know she still stood by what she had said.

They were laying in bed late one night when she bought up the other matter, one Antony figured was inevitable but hoped to avoid anyways.

The only light in the room came from a lamp, and he liked the way it kissed her skin. She was snuggled up against his side, her head on his chest and he had both arms around her, one hand resting on her waist, the other on her arm, thumb slowly caressing the soft skin.

She interrupted the silence.

“Leave her.” 

Antony sighed, his chin resting on her head. He held her tighter.

“I can’t.” he mumbled softly, staring up at the ceiling. “People will ask questions if I do.”

“So?”

“If they do, I might loose the support I’ve gained for Caesar.” 

She moved back to look him in the eye. She was frowning, her mood ruined.

“I don’t care about what Caesar wants or what he needs.” she said, her voice soft but her words hard. “I’m getting tired of hiding Antony! I have to lie all the time, and to everyone!”

“I care about what Caesar wants and needs.” he spitted slowly. “If he gets it, then I move up.”

She snorted, pulling away from him, yanking on a blanket to cover her modesty. She sat on the edge of the bed.

“The other day I ran into an ex-boyfriend, you know.” she began, dryly. “He asked me out again, and I said that I was with someone. When he asked about you I had to lie.” her words came out in cuts, like she had a knot in her throat. “I have to lie to everyone, to my friends,...my parents. I don’t like lying to them.”

Antony sighed, sitting on the bed and moving closer to her. He tried to put his arms around her, but she shrugged him off violently.

“I don’t like second place. I never had, I never will.” she added, this time sounding resentful. “And I don’t deserve it.”

Antony watched her back, thinking of a way to not loose her.

He didn’t love his wife. He never had. Whatever affections he may have felt vanished even before Alex was born; but their union was still useful: she got his people out of trouble, and he helped her out when some big fish went after her. If she helped him, he climbed, and if he climbed, so did she.

There was a limit for most things, he knew, and his limit with Fulvia had long been passed. He couldn’t stand the woman anymore, and she couldn’t stand him. When they weren’t yelling at each other's throat, they were ignoring each other, and when they weren’t ignoring each other, they were trying to get things to go their way by blackmail. Not even Alex stood in the way of a divorce, only those damned elections. If he could be made President of the Senate before a divorce he’d be standing more firmly for whatever she threw at him afterwards, and in kind his own retaliation would hurt more.

But he didn't want to keep fighting. He just wanted to be rid of her and not see her again. He was tired of the fighting.

He just needed to wait until may passed. When Caesar won, he would name him President of the Senate. That was almost six months away.

Then what? Some more months of secrecy before going to the public with Lysandra ( _ if  _ the divorce went smoothly), for he didn’t want to rise too many eyebrows. The age difference was more than enough; if they suspected too much of what they were doing, her reputation could be ruined, even the career she still hadn’t shaped would as well.

“Give me one year.”

She snorted and turned, ready to argue.

“I know, gattina, I know.” he said, prudently taking her in his arms. She let herself be dragged into his lap, and he kissed the crown of her head. “Give me until may.”

He thought she’d be happier, after all, he agreed right away.

Antony thought women did it on purpose. Just when he thought he understood one, they jumped in with something quite opposite.

“But…”

He took her chin with his fingers and forced her to look up.

“I promise.” he kissed her softly, his tongue teasing hers. “I promise.”

He laid her down gently, his lips still locked on hers.

* * *

 

Fuck, he loved her.

Antony finally realized this one morning in late november as he woke up, slightly disoriented.

He turned, not really realizing that had he been sleeping with Lysandra, he and her would’ve been tangled into each other. Instead of his french mermaid he found his wife, and remembered that the previous night had been one of the odd ones where he slept at home. He had been so tired he hadn’t even noticed she was in the bed. 

Not that it mattered. It was a big bed, after all.

He retreated his arm, and laid on his back once more, rubbing his eyes and pinching his nose.

God. 

He had been with her again the previous weekend, and gone back to Rome to his son, the only person who genuinely missed him when he was gone besides Lysandra herself.

For a moment, he had thought he was back there, and that a quiet day awaited them, with her head in his lap as he ran his fingers through her hair and talked, or sat with each other in companionable silence.

He had been away from her laughter for barely a day or two, but he missed it as if a lifetime had passed. 

He wanted to go to sleep with her face being the last thing he saw and wake up to the same sight everyday. He wanted to go to work after preparing to the sight of her still sleeping, and come back to find her playing who knew what in whatever instrument she took a liking to that day. He wanted to come back and complain about his day to her, or tell her when he did or said something in some meeting only he found amusing.

He wanted to have her near, where he could protect her if something were to happen, where he could console her should some disgrace befall. 

He wanted to have her near so he’d be the first to know when something good happened to her, or when one of her pieces didn’t turn out how she wanted. He wanted to be the first to hear the endless rant, and make sardonic comments until she couldn’t help but smile or throw a pillow at his face.

He wanted to have her near so he could get drunk on her everyday.

He loved her.

_ ‘I love her.’ _

“Aw, fuck. Just great. Fucking brilliant.” he muttered, getting ready to start another shit day.

 

* * *

 

He called on a gardener, and asked him to resurrect the death dirt, to bring it back to its former glory.

“Fill it with flowers.” he told the man, who looked at the job ahead with fearful eyes. “I don’t care which kinds, but fill it all with flowers, and add this one.” he picked up the one Lysandra had given him and pressed it to his chest.

The poor plant was suffering. He remembered to water it everyday,...almost, but something was still wrong with it.

The gardener looked down at the plant.

“This one needs much more space, signor. It grows into a tree, you see.”

“Good.” Antony smiled, extending his arm in the direction of the garden. “There’s your space.”   
The man couldn’t hide his nerves.

“It will take time, signor, time and money.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“And people. I can’t do it alone. It’s too much, and the weather won’t help.”

He waved him off, and sent him to his assistant, a young, pretty little thing who was more efficient than people gave her credit for. Antony liked pretty faces, and he liked them better when they knew how to do their jobs.

He suddenly remembered he had fucked her once, a few weeks before he met Lysandra.

_ ‘Uh. I’ll have to fire her then.’  _ he thought, calling her once more to tell her to come over and see to the gardener.

A few days went by, and he hired an architect and bought him to the villa. The man was supposed to find a way to save the place without destroying it.

The man said it could be done, and Antony, who already knew the man and the man knew Antony enough to not try and take advantage, took it upon himself to get people of trust to fix everything.

He went to the piano store in person, and threatened the owner, telling him that if he tried to sell him something rotten he’d make sure his life and that of his family was ruined.

Smiling broadly, he left the store satisfied with his purchase.

He drove back to the villa, and walked into the foyer, barely avoiding the worker in charge of Alex’s room.

He admired the place. It was a work in progress, no doubt, but he liked it already.

And what was best, Lysandra would love it.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**The Other Woman**

**Part XIII**

  
  
  


Lysandra walked around with a skip to her step and a smug smile on her face those days.

Antony promised to leave his wife. Her days were numbered and soon she’d be able to go up to every single person who crossed her path and tell them that she was in love with the world’s biggest asshole.

She walked into her apartment that afternoon, and found him sitting in the couch like he had no cares in the world, both arms behind his head as he insulted the football players on the screen.

She had told him where she hid the spare key, so they wouldn’t have to go through the same ordeal as the first time he visited.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” she smiled, washing her hands in the kitchen sink and putting her bag and books on the counter, kicking off her shoes as she hurried to join him on the couch.

She settled next to him and stopped for a moment, her head light, but coming back to herself in the blink of an eye.

She smiled when he turned to look at her, taking her in his arms and pressing a kiss to her lips. She pushed him onto his back and climbed atop of him, her hands sneaking underneath his sweater and running up the hard planes of his chest.

He was hers. He truly was practically hers, almost.

She pulled back, the tip of her nose brushing his.

“Why are you smiling like that? What have you done?” he asked, locking his fingers over the small of her back.

Lysandra kept on smiling, but rolled her eyes.

“I’m just happy to see you.” she said, settling on his chest, watching the screen without really seeing what was happening. She yawned. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Your birthday’s on tuesday, but since I can’t come over that day I thought we could do something tomorrow.”

She hid her smile on his chest, her eyelids threatening to close.

“That’d be great.” She reached behind her blindly and pulled the blanket over them. “Now, be my pillow, will you?”

* * *

 

The sound of the water falling over the tub as they rocked their bodies back and forth was a persistent one.

Lysandra had long ago discarded the goal of a nice, relaxing bath, and as she smirked down at Antony, she felt glad about it. The haste and all consuming feel of the act was a better medicine for her stress than any tranquil ambiance could offer.

Antony grunted underneath her, his eyes closed and his fingers digging into her hips as he set a pace for her.

She often let him manhandle her, and each time found some odd joy and pleasure on the mere idea. She might be on top of him, but if she tried to change the pace, one look from him would be enough to remind her she wasn’t really in charge.

Gripping the edge of the tub, she looked down at him, a moan dying on her lips as she slowed down against the force of his fingers.

Antony’s own eyes shot open at her challenge, and she suppressed a giggle as he quickly sat up straight, his arms coming around her waist and pressing her chest against his as he regained control, driving up into her in a frenzy.

Lysandra’s hold on the tub slipped, and she instead held on to him, her nails digging into his back as she gently bit his ear.

She could feel the heat growing, threatening to explode, and by the way Antony was moving, she knew he was close too.

A few more thrusts and she couldn’t hold it anymore. She threw her head back and arched her back into him, her thighs pressing against his sides and holding on to his shoulders with all her strength, not letting go as Antony found his own release, slumping back after a few moments, her hips still moving slowly. 

He made himself comfortable again, pulling her down against his chest, not even attempting at moving out of her, not that she really minded.

Lysandra pressed her face to his chest and smiled dreamily when she heard his rapid heartbeat, pressing a quick kiss to the skin there and another on the side of his neck.

“That’s a nice way to work the tension out.”

He chuckled beneath her.

“I live to serve.”

Lysandra sat carefully, her stomach rumbling.

“I’m hungry.” she announced, getting up.

She rose to her feet and the world spinned around her. Her arm shot up and she grabbed the shower curtain, maintaining her feet stubbornly on place. Her hair came undone from the messy bun she had it in and obscured her view for a moment before she pushed it away. Antony’s own hands grabbed her legs, and he looked up at her in slight alarm.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded.

“Yes. I’m hungry.”

“When did you eat last?” he asked, getting up as well, cautious of not making her lose balance.

Still holding on to the curtain, she stepped out of the tub and shrugged, trying to rest the matter importance.

“Breakfast.”

He gave her an incredulous look, taking a towel and wrapping her in it.

“That was twelve hours ago.”

“Time is relative.” she quickly used an excuse borrowed from Mariette, one she used when they were late for class because they were usually too busy being ‘cool’ and smoking under a tree. Well, Mariette smoked while Lysandra read some magazine or another. Geoff didn’t join them; he loved being on time too much.

“Lysa…”

She didn’t mention that the only thing she had for breakfast was an apple. A small one at that.

Antony sighed.

“You need to…”

“I know, I know. I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

His gaze softened, and he wrapped a towel around his hips.

“Go get dressed before you catch a cold, and I’ll make you something.”

Lysandra didn’t have any objections, and let him leave the bathroom as she headed for her room, thinking that she could get used to such a routine.

* * *

  
  


Mariette stared back at her through the screen in a pensive silence, something that worried Lysandra. Her friend was quick to make up her mind, and this behaviour was making her uneasy. That, and the fact that she had just half an hour before Geoff picked her up to take her to meet professor Laconte.

“So, I met Geoff’s girlfriend.” she said, hoping that would get her friend out of her stupor. “Her name’s Laurie and she kissed my cheek when we met. I found it quite rude, you know. Who does she think she is? We’re not friends, we just met.”

French people had the costume of greeting each other with up to four kisses on the cheek depending on the region they were from, but that was a privilege reserved for those who knew each other, and it hadn’t really sit well with Lysandra when her friend’s new girlfriend walked right up to her with that revolting smell of weed and kissed both of her cheeks.

Lysandra didn’t usually mind the smell of either nicotine nor weed, since Mariette tended to switch from the first to the latter on special occasions, but at the moment it had made her nauseous.

Laurie had been nice, but Lysandra had been having a strange day and the woman taking the liberty of invading her space in such a way right as they met hadn’t sat well. Those damned muffins hadn’t sat well with her either, nor with Geoff.

“I don’t buy it.”

“What? That Geoff’s got a girlfriend? Why not? He’s a nice guy.”

Mariette rolled her eyes and reached blindly for her cigarettes.

“No, what you just told me of Italian daddy.”

“Stop calling him that. It’s,...weird.”

“Yeah, well,” she said through her teeth, lighting up the lung cancer. “I’ll stop when you stop believing his lies.”

She had told Mariette about her conversation with Antony a few weeks prior, when he promised to divorce Fulvia and go public with her.

“He wasn’t lying.”

The blonde woman pressed her hand against her forehead, the smoke going right into her hair. Lysandra’s eyes followed it; it took a lot for Mariette to stop caring for her hair so.

“You’ve known the guy for a few months, honey. You’ve been sleeping with him and now your dumb ass got feelings.” now she was coming off as condescending to her.

Grunting, Lysandra stood up and grabbed a small tablet of Midols and got one out, quickly shoving it into her mouth and grabbing her glass of water, swallowing the pill.

“So? You only met him once, and you couldn’t even talk to him.” 

“I don’t  _ need  _ to know him, Lysa!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “They guy’s married! He’s got a small kid! He’s not leaving his wife anytime soon, especially if there’s an election year coming. He’s probably saying all that crap to keep you hooked or something.”

“Why do you have to be like that?!”

“Like what?! I’m looking out for you, you little cunt!”and now her voice was rising, as were her hand gestures. “He’s going to leave and break your heart when he gets bored of you. He’ll go back to his perfect little family and who’s gonna pick up your pieces?! I will!”

Lysandra wanted to fight back, but she couldn’t really find the right thing to say. Every argument sounded silly even in her head. What could she say? That she loved him? That she suspected he loved her too? That, despite of how corrupt and sleazy and downright awful he was proving to be, she was certain he wouldn’t break a promise to her? What would she tell Mariette to convince her?

What would she tell so she could convince herself? That she was special?

“It’s just a year.” she whispered instead, the tears prickling behind her eyes.

Mariette snorted, taking the cigarette to her lips.

“Yeah, and then it’ll be two.” she looked straight into the screen, serious. “Look, I never liked this thing you were doing, but I let it pass. I thought it was a phase you know? That you needed to date a class A asshole or someone you weren’t supposed to. I really thought it was just one of those really stupid things you did before getting serious again, like a rebellious act...God knows you haven’t had many.” she muttered the last part as she exhaled the smoke through her nose, looking like an enraged bull from the cartoons they used to watch as children. “If I’d known you were being serious about this,...I don’t know.” Mariette sighed, her cigarette now reduced to something no bigger than a fingernail as she turned it off. “I would’ve said something much sooner.”

Lysandra sat back in silence, still wanting to be the one to win the argument. Would he? Would he leave her and go back to his family?

Antony was manipulative and a liar, that was true. Was he playing her as well? Was she a distraction?

She wanted to think not. He gave her the keys to his home, the place he ran off to because he couldn’t bare to be in the same room as his wife most of the time. He told her not to worry about other women. 

Was he really all alone in that old villa, like she was? Or was he with someone else?

Something told her she was being ridiculous, looking for the fifth leg of the cat, but the rational part of her brain told her that Mariette was right.

Even through the screen, Mariette must’ve noticed the tears, because she seemed sympathetic.

“Look, you’re not as terrible as you think you are, Lysa.” she spoke, softer now. “You can get someone decent if you want, someone who’ll look after you and will respect you.”

Antony respected her, or so Lysandra felt. He listened to her, and had her wishes into consideration. He paid attention to what she liked and didn’t make her feel small because their tastes were different. He never insisted on anything she didn’t want to do.

And he also looked after her. He went out of his way to remind her to eat properly and take it easy. He picked up the phone at any hour when she called crying because she was convinced that the contest and the classes were too much for her. He stayed up on the phone with her until she felt calm again or fell asleep; and she knew due to his breathing. He carried her in his arms when her heels became too much, and the last time he visited, he stocked up her freezer with frozen food, half of which he had bought, the other half he had made for her with his bare hands, right in front of her as she worked on the harp solo for her symphony.

But she knew what Mariette would say to all that.

He didn’t care enough to end it all already. No, he had to get his way first.

“You want me to leave him.”

Mariette winced.

“I want you to be happy, and to have the freedom to share it.”

The door opened, and Geoff headed in.

“You ready? It’s the big day!” he smiled, closing the door behind him with a big smile on his face, which fell when he saw hers. “What is it?”

Mariette took another cigarette.

“Look, another person you love and have to lie to.”

Geoff’s thick eyebrows shot up and he walked closer, taking off his brown scarf that Lysandra’s mother had knitted for him.

“Hello and goodbye, idiot! I gotta go or I’ll be late.”

The call ended, and her friend took a seat on the empty chair.

Lysandra’s eyes flew to the chair. Antony always sat there.

She had forgotten, for a moment, that he had offered to drive her that day.

“We need to talk.”

“I didn’t do anything but I’m sorry.” he said quickly, receiving a perplexed look in exchange.

* * *

 

“Well, shit, Lysa.” he sighed as if in defeat, running a hand through his thick, brown hair; the other on the wheel. “So that explains why you almost didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry.” she was sincerely apologizing. “I knew you wouldn’t approve…”

“You’re damn right I don’t!” he raised his voice for a moment, but apologized when she flinched and sighed again. “Just, I don’t understand. Why? It’s not like that guy is the only one on earth who would want you. He’s not your soulmate either. Why?”

She looked out at the white city, and was thankful for her friend and his car. She still couldn’t drive for shit, so her only options to get to the conservatoire were the bus or a taxi, none of which were as entertaining as travelling with a friend. Well, except in that particular day. 

“I don’t know.” she confessed, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair. How long till they made it to their destination? Geoff’s driving was making her sick. “But I love him.”

Her friend didn’t say anything to that, but his hold on the steering wheel tightened, and his knuckles turned white.

“I trust his word.” she said, not as sure as she affirmed. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She bit her lip, mentally sighing in relief when the grey building came into view.

“I didn’t want you hate me,...I thought you might leave me.”

Geoff rolled his eyes good-naturedly, giving her knee a little shove.

“I wouldn’t leave you, Lysa. We’re stuck together.” he tried to smile, and she had to look away at the disappointment in his eyes. “Besides, we promised Mariette we’d all be annoying each other even when we’re old and we’re stuck in some asylum.”

Lysandra smiled a little, remembering the promise they made when they were but eleven. Mariette’s parents had been going through a nasty divorce, and the girl, scared of being all alone, made her two friends promise to always be together.

Lysandra wondered if the blonde still remembered the promise. She probably did; say what you will of Mariette, but she had an excellent memory.

Geoff parked outside the building.

“You got everything?” he asked her, and she nodded, grabbing her backpack and checking her pocket to make sure her pendrive was still there. Then, she checked another pocket to make sure her back-up was there, and inside her boot there was yet another backup. She smiled, nervous and nauseating.

“I’m gonna throw up.”

Geoff laughed, not cruelly.

“You’ll do great. You’re one of his favourites.”

She nodded and steeled herself.

“I’ll be back soon if you want.”

“Or you can come in.” she offered. “Professor Laconte won’t mind, and you’ll get to listen before Mariette does.”

He placed a finger on his chin.

“So Mariette hasn’t heard it yet?” he smirked, undoing his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Lysandra took another pill when the pain began to return, this time more persistent than earlier.

She wasn’t sure if it was even safe to take those pills so close in between, but at the moment she had other priorities, like getting a second good opinion on her symphony.

Geoff looked at her, his back against the light grey wall. They were facing each other across a hallway, right outside Professor Laconte classroom.

“Take a deep breath. It’ll be fine.” he said gently.

She nodded and pressed her hand to her lower belly. Damn her ovaries. Why couldn’t she had been born a man? Why did it have to be that day of all the days?

“Did you have breakfast?” he asked her.

“I had fruit.” she confessed, not specifying what kind nor how much.

Geoff nodded.

“Maybe you should’ve had something warm instead. Were they cold from the fridge?”

“Who puts fruit in the fridge?” she asked him like he was stupid. “No, it’s just cramps.”

He shrugged, and the door next to her opened. A short man with a big, round belly walked out, his white hair shining under the light. He smiled broadly when he saw her.

“Lysandra! How are you, dear?!” Professor Laconte hugged her, and his enthusiasm transmitted a bit into her. Professor Laconte didn’t usually hug his students, only his favourites, of which he tended to have five in each generation. The man was the most accessible professor she had had in all her years studying there, and he was always willing to help, even if the student had never been in his classroom. “It’s been too long, too long.”

“Everything is perfect.” she lied, clasping his shoulder. “How is your knee? And your wife?”

“Oh, my knee is a pain in the butt as usual, and so is Marie.” he winked, and then noticed Geoff. “Who is this? A boyfriend?”

Geoff’s eyes widened in horror, but she laughed.

“No, how disgusting. He’s my best friend, Geoff. He’s tagging along.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.” the man extended a hand, and the professor took it with both of his, shaking them with a warm expression on his face.

“Brilliant! Brilliant!” he turned back to her. “Now, I hear you have something to show me.”

She nodded, and the man made himself aside to urge them in.

Lysandra walked down the stairs slowly. Professor Laconte was the favourite of the conservatoire, and he had gotten away with having a small, improvised stage at the front of the class. It was more of an auditorium than a classroom, and with all the instruments on the way, it proved to be a pain when he wrote something down in the board, but it was at the same time more entertaining when he could show his theory right on the spot.

He walked past her, and Lysandra had the impression that his knee wasn’t as bad as he claimed, or she slower than usual. Geoff remained close, thankfully, looking around in curious wonder as they neared the front, where the professor was moving everything around.

“Will we need the piano? The harp? I know you’re fond of it.”

“Probably.”

“And the projector?”

“I recorded some parts.”

“Ah, brilliant!”

They made it to the front, and the professor invited Geoff to take a seat wherever he pleased.

Lysandra was thankful when she made it to the piano, and let herself fall on the booth with uncharacteristic heaviness. She moved to get her backpack off her shoulders and handed the professor the small pendrive.

She got rid of her scarf and coat, trying to move as little as possible, otherwise she would most definitely throw up. Her hands were shaking. What if her work wasn’t good enough? What if she would never be good enough?

What if everything was just a waste of time?

_ “Are you thinking of your music or Antony?” _

She got her folders out, and quickly searched the one with only the piano and her notes.

Professor Laconte took a seat next to her on the booth, and while she usually didn’t mind him, that day she just wanted to be left alone.

She placed the papers on the music rack and handled him the rest.

“What is this?”

“A symphony.”

“Those need a lot of musicians.” he said in good nature, looking over her notes quickly and then leaning forward to watch what she had written.

“I know.”

“You want to compete, don’t you?”

“Only if you consider I can.” she answer, swallowing back a lump in her throat, her hands rising to the keys.

The professor laughed.

“Oh! I’m sure you don’t need the opinion of an old man like me, Lysandra dear! But I’m touched you felt like asking for advice.”

She looked over at Geoff, who had taken a seat in the front row, and he rose both his thumbs.

“So, Symphony number 1?”

She nodded and tried to joke a bit, through her clenched teeth.

“I also call it “Music for an imbecile.”

“Oh, you have a muse I see.” he chuckled.

“Something of the sort.”

“Good! Good. Like Beethoven and Elise. But not petty, I imagine, coming from you. How long?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Uh. You know, there’s a fifteen minutes limit, if you want to add something later on. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear. Show me.”

She tried to keep on the smile, and looked over the keys when he made a gesture.

Lysandra took a deep breath and started to play.

She did well with the first measures, but then she messed up a note and winced, continuing.

Her jaw was clenched so tight her teeth hurt. She pushed through it. Like hell she’d let some silly cramps to get in the way; besides, the pill would make effect soon enough.

She screwed up again, and Professor Laconte rose a gentle hand.

“Calm down. Go easy. You’re hurrying.”

He turned the page and she kept playing.

“And there’s a small harp solo here, right?” he asked, pointing at a little arrow and a scribble she had done.

She nodded urgently, her breath increasing.

God almighty.

She gasped for air she didn’t know she was holding and stopped playing, her fists pushing down the keys and her foot pressing on the pedal, a horrible sound coming from the instrument and travelling through the space, persistent. Another gasp left through her lips and her hand went to her belly, closing in a fist over the heavy clothes.

“Dear, what is it?”

There were tears in her eyes, and the pain was such she couldn’t form a word.

_ “It hurts! It hurts so much! Make it stop. I need a doctor.” _

But none of that left her mouth; instead a sob did and she stood up, feeling something wet between her legs.

Her foot caught the booth and she fell on her knees, one hand stopping her from hitting her head against the hard ground and the other still clenching her clothes.

She faintly heard Geoff hurried steps, and suddenly he was on her direct line of vision, too close for comfort.

“Lysa! Lysa, look at me.” she tried to push him away and let herself fall on the floor, her eyes widening when she saw all the blood. 

Professor Laconte was also leaning over her, a phone on his hand.

“I’m calling a hospital.” she heard him say. “You calm down, dear. Everything is fine.”

But his eyes told her he lied.

She would have rather he lied about her music.

Geoff took her in his arms and held her against his chest.

“It’s fine, you’re fine.”

It hurted. And she felt so dizzy.

She curled into him, hoping to ease her pain a little, and buried her head in the crook of his neck, not wanting to see all that blood again.

She cried out, panting. Geoff tried to sooth her by running his hands over her arms, but she wanted to tell him it was useless.

It hurted, so she closed her eyes and let it end. 

* * *

 

When Lysandra came back to her senses, she found a bright light above her and scrunched her eyes closed, grunting under her breath.

To her left, something moved, and a warm hand took her cold one.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

It was Geoff. 

The sterile smell hit her nose quite rudely, and she knew where she was before she opened her eyes. 

A white wall greeted her, a vase with sunflowers on a counter, a cheap painting of a boat sailing on a river a little above.

She noticed the pain had subsided, and there was a needle on her hand. The constant  _ beep-beep,  _ was already getting on her nerves.

She turned to look at Geoff, who looked as sick as she felt.

“What happened?”

He squeezed her hand, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Your professor called an ambulance, but you passed out before they got there.” he explained softly, as if talking to a wounded animal. “There was a lot of blood.”

“Yeah, I noticed that part. But what happened? Did the doctor say anything?”

“I’ll go call him.” he avoided eye contact, standing up and letting go of her hand. He made it to the door and turned back around for a second. “By the way, I called Mariette and she’s on her way. Your mother’s coming too.”

* * *

 

She stared straight ahead, nodding to what the doctor said and producing small sounds to better pretend she was listening, but instead focused on the constant beeping and the flowers, a stark contrast against the  depressing wall and painting.

A miscarriage, the man had said with little tact, before going into another explanation.

With little strength and in shock, she tried to argue that it wasn’t possible. She was on the pill, she was having her period, and her nausea was due to stress. She hadn’t been eating well, too preoccupied with not sinking in a sea of reports and exams.

The man brushed it off, saying that sometimes it happened, and that the stress she insisted on could have caused it.

She stopped listening after that, and ignored the argument Geoff had sparkled over his crude behaviour.

Another doctor walked in, a bit older, a bit more gentle, and went over her history before breaking it more slowly to her.

She kept on nodding, a hand over her belly.

So there was something growing there.

Was.

There was something growing there and she didn’t realize, and now it wasn’t there anymore.

The doctor mentioned a small procedure, a surgery to remove some tissue. She kept on nodding and making those noises.

How couldn’t she have noticed?

“Are you allergic to something?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She looked over in mild surprise, but still not fully there. 

What?

“She’s very sensitive to latex.” Geoff apported from the other side of the bed, and the doctor nodded.

The hand over her belly fell flat on her lap, and she felt sick again.

What had she done? She tried to wreck her brain for all the things she had been doing the past twelve weeks, all that could’ve led up to that moment, but found she didn’t even had the strength or will to do  _ that _ .

All she wanted to do was curl into a small bundle on Antony’s side and stay there, with his protective arms around her,...make the world disappear.

She frowned. Antony, of course. He’d want to know, wouldn’t he?

She huffed.

There was no point in it. There was nothing to worry about, not for him at least, not anymore.

A nurse came in and asked for her signature. She put a pen on her hand and spoke slowly, her hand moving over the papers, probably explaining what it was she was being asked to sign.

Lysandra didn’t listen. She didn’t care really.

She signed the paper, and hoped, weakly, for everything to be done with.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**The Other Woman**

**Part XIV**

  
  


Lysandra stared right at her mother, and her mother stared right back at her, completely in silence.

Sitting in a corner, Cingerix watched them as one watches a tennis match, and outside, Geoff and Mariette did a terrible job at taking discrete peaks.

Lysandra didn’t really cared though. She didn’t care about her friends eavesdropping, nor about the constant beeping that filled the room and threatened to open up a hole in her skull, nor her mother’s silence.

If she was honest, she barely had the energy to care, even if it was just a little, about the disappointment that shone unmistakably in her dark eyes.

“Why?” Delphinia finally asked, her hands on her hips as she didn’t attempt to move from her current position, at the end of her daughters bed. “Why did you do something like that? We raised you better than this.”

Delphinia didn’t raise her voice, and that was an usual sign that what she said was serious. Lysandra looked away and shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

"You don't know?" Delphinia repeated slowly, watching her closely, but Lysandra persisted, not giving nothing away. "You got yourself involved with a married man, someone with a family, a recognizable face, and you don't know why?"

What could she possibly say? That Antony was incredibly charming and persuasive? She’d be treated like a fool then. Should she confess that she hadn't cared enough to try and resist? Then she'd be an awful disappointment.

"Don't worry about it. It won't happen again." Was all she said, still not looking at her mother.

She heard Delphinia sigh.

"What if the press heard about this? Your father could lose his job, you could be ruined."

"They didn't."

"No. You got lucky."

She almost smiled, but the action seemed like an exhausting one, so she just blinked at the wall.

Lucky indeed.

* * *

  
  


Like it happened with her mother, she had to gather the energy to explain to her father as well when he arrived the next day.

She was lucid enough to understand there was no way of lying her way out of the situation, and she was tired of lying too. Besides, when someone gets a call from their daughters friend saying that she's in the hospital, and when the doctor uses the word  _ 'miscarriage'  _ there really isn't a better way out of it than ripping that bandage off.

Victus had been disappointed. Disappointed and disgusted, for it was no secret that he highly disliked Antony and his questionable methods to get his way. There was no doubt he wasn't happy with Lysandra, but she couldn't help but notice that most of his anger was directed at Antony rather than to her. She briefly wondered why this was; after all, they were both guilty. 

“You’re my daughter.” he had said as he paced around the hospital room, as if that explained it all.

“I am. I’m also a reckless failure.”

He gave her a look from where he was standing, and his gaze softened as he approached her bed and took a seat next to her, taking her hand in his.

“Reckless? Sometimes.” he smiled, trying to show her he intended it as a joke. “But not a failure, Lysa. This can happen to anyone.”

“Maybe it was for the better it happened to me.” she said, looking out the window.

The silence seemed louder than ever.

* * *

 

Her parents were there. Her brother was there. Her friends were there. Even professor Laconte, who had been worried after what had happened in his classroom.

They were all there, around her, talking among themselves and to her; and she was nodding along, sure, and the small part of her that was still conscious was glad for their company, but none of them were the ones she wanted there.

She didn’t want Mariette holding her hand, she wanted Antony’s. She didn’t want her mother’s hug, but Antony’s. She didn’t want her father’s hand running down her head gently, she wanted Antony doing that.

She wanted to hear his voice telling her everything would be fine, that it wasn’t her fault (even though it was). She wanted him to take her in his arms and press her against him as much as he could, and she wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and place her hands over his chest, to feel his strong heart beat. She wanted him to tell her everything would be fine, that he’d divorce Fulvia, and then they could be together, that Alex wouldn’t hate her for ruining his parent’s marriage and they could actually  _ try  _ for a child one day. She wanted to go back to his last visit, when they spent most of the weekend tucked away in her bed, talking and laughing, kissing and moaning and ignoring the rest of the world, and she wanted him to look at her the same way he had been looking at her lately, as if she were some precious treasure and he loved her, as if she were the only one. 

She wanted to be told everything would be fine, but she wanted to be told by Antony.

It was ungrateful on her part, yes, but she couldn’t long for him more than she did at that moment.

Mariette had given her the phone wordlessly (probably due to the fact that her parents were nearby and they wouldn’t want to hear  _ his  _ name at all), as if she knew what she was thinking of. Lysandra had looked at her friend, her dark eyes giving her a clear message: you need to tell him.

Lysandra looked down at the phone. It would be so easy. She called him so often he was on speed dial, and he always either answered immediately or called her back, and the latter tended to be followed by a quick apology, with Antony saying he had been in some meeting or another activity of the sort.

“It’s late.” she said.

Mariette checked the time on her own phone.

“Not that late. Someone like him, I bet he’s still up.”

“Someone like him? You don’t know him, you said so yourself.”

She shrugged, looking at front, where Geoff and Cingerix were talking about his new school in Rome.

Professor Laconte was saying goodbye to her parents.

What point was there? The child was gone and she was going to recover. There was no need to worry him over something that never came to pass.

“It’s late.” she repeated, giving back her phone.

* * *

  
  


Lysandra could hear her father on the kitchen; he was cursing and letting things fall, and she almost gave in to the impulse to smile.  _ That  _ was where her inability to cook came from.

Her mother and Cingerix had gone to the pharmacy to get her some painkillers and Geoff had gone back to his apartment with Mariette so they could get some rest and give her family some privacy, which had left Victus with the horrific task of making a sandwich for his daughter. Now, Lysandra claimed she wasn’t hungry, but everybody insisted that she needed something in her stomach.

She looked to the right, to where her father was having some trouble slicing a tomato.

The corner of her lips lifted on one side, only for the shortest moment, and she thought of Antony, who was always quite comfortable in a kitchen with a knife in hand. Making a sandwich wouldn’t have taken him twenty minutes, that was for sure.

She swallowed, her hand falling from her belly to the couch, lifeless.

She couldn’t call him.

Looking out the window to the snow covered building across the narrow street, she wondered: what if?

What if she hadn’t lost the child? Would she have gotten an abortion? Would she have  _ wanted  _ to? And what about Antony? What would he want? What if she had found out sooner, and what if she had told him? Would he move forward his plan to divorce Fulvia? Would she make it harder or easier?

Either way, it’d certainly be a big stain on his career, one that’d be difficult to clean.

Or maybe he wouldn’t risk his career at all. Maybe he’d try to maintain his original plan of a year, or he’d just prolong that, and she and the child would just be the second family he snuck off to see from time to time. 

Perhaps he’d just leave her alone. He didn’t strike her as the type to abandon a child, especially his, but a sadistic part of her wanted to believe otherwise.

She wanted him there  _ and  _ gone.

“Papa.” she called softly, her voice on the verge of breaking. Victus looked up when he heard her. “I,...I’m not feeling too well.”

He was there in an instant, his arms around her as she rested against his chest and wept.

He whispered some comforting words she couldn’t make out. She gripped the back of his sweater thightly, and for a moment, she was eight years old again, crying because the kids at her new school were mean to her, asking him to not send her there again.

“Papa, I don’t,...I don’t want him to leave me.” she sobbed into him, her eyes closed as tight as they could. “I don’t want it to end.”

Victus said nothing, his hand running up and down her back as he swayed her softly.

She tried to get a hold of herself.

“Do you hate me?”

“Of course not.” he didn’t hesitate to answer, his chin coming to rest on top of her head. “I could never hate you, Lysa.”

“I do.”

* * *

  
  


Two weeks passed, although she barely noticed. Her parents and her brother went back to Rome, after she did the effort to reassure them that she would be fine and promising to go for christmas. Mariette had to go back to Paris, but at least Geoff was still there, and he tried to visit her everyday to make sure she had eaten something or to just get her out of bed.

Lysandra had gotten up on her own that day, and had spent only god knew how long sitting in front of her piano, just staring at the black and white keys, pressing one from time to time, but not getting anything. She tried various methods, from just playing randomly to setting herself a tone, and almost tried to establish a whole set of rules to follow, but gave up halfway through that, for she didn’t have the strength to think into such depth.

She let her index fall on the black key that came right after Fa, over and over, slowly, letting the continuous sound drive her mad. Extraneously, she extended her hand and completed the chord, smiling bitterly. The devil’s interval. She would probably be accused of witchcraft if she lived a few centuries earlier. 

The dissonant sound replaced the single note she had been previously playing, and when her phone started ringing, she began to play louder. 

She didn’t want to pick up. She wasn’t going to. Lysandra had a pretty good idea of who it was calling, and she would rather avoid it and hope he forgot about her than face him.

After a few minutes, the ringing stopped, and with it she stopped playing, but let her fingers in the position.

A knock reached her ears, and she stood up to open the door. She checked the hour on the clock she had on the wall, and yes, it was near the usual time Geoff arrived for his daily check-up.

When she opened the door, she was most shocked to find Antony on the other side. The man didn’t even give her time to process this as he pushed her aside and strode in.

She closed the door and followed him into the living room where he had taken to stride around like a caged lion.

Lysandra noticed his black eye and redded nose, and briefly wondered what had happened.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

They both asked at the same time and took but a moment to process the other’s question.

He waited for an answer and she looked away, running a hand across her forehead.

“Because there was no point in it.”

“There,...there was no…? IT’S MY CHILD!”

She showed herself a little fazed.

“ _ Was _ . It’s dead now.” she shrugged, looking at the clear wall on her left. “I don’t think it ever classified as a human being, actually.”

Antony didn’t say anything for a few seconds, so she looked his way and found on his face a look of utter estrangement.

Now that did make her feel something. A sting of hurt and regret, and like a desperate woman, she clung to it with arms, legs and teeth.

“Why are you here?” she repeated the question.

“Why?!” he almost yelled. “You don’t answer the phone for weeks! Then I find out you had a miscarriage, and you didn’t have the decency to tell me! Your father had to tell me!” he added, pointing at his black eye.

“Uh, so that’s how you got it.” she mumbled, and the fury rose in him like a wave taking shape.

“Is that all you have to say?!” there it was again, mixed with the rage, a look that made it seem like she was a stranger. The sting grew. “You were in the hospital! You went through surgery…!”

“Standard procedure.”

Antony was silent for a millisecond.

“...And the child you lost wasn’t just  _ yours _ , Lysandra.”

“Exactly. I lost it, so now you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“What?!”

“That’s what it is, isn’t it? There’s no child on the way to ruin your life. So why are you so upset?” she truly didn’t understand his anger, and he seemed to not understand her apparent indifference.

“Why am I upset?! You little shit, I’m upset because you should've to…”

“I didn’t have to do anything. I wasn’t about to worry you over something that didn’t happen.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is though.” she narrowed her eyes at him, glad to be feeling something that wasn’t numbness, even if it was pain. “If I’ve been more careful, I wouldn’t have lost the baby and I’d have to tell you, and then you would’ve had to follow through with your promise. So there. It was for the better. One less thing for you to worry about.”

“That’s what you think of me? You think I lied?”

“I think you hate not getting your way. So it was either taking responsibility and ruining your career or single motherhood; and I don’t think I have the mental capacity for that right now,” she sighed. “So it was probably for the better. It saved us time and energy.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! How can you be like this?”

“Like what? It’s the truth. Plain and simple.”

“No. No, this isn’t the Lysandra I love,...”

“Then leave.”

He froze, and that look he gave her was like being punched in the chest. His eyes were wide, his hair a mess, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days and had just witnessed a building crumbling down.

“What?” he spat.

Lysandra swallowed.

“Leave.” she repeated, so cold she didn’t feel like herself. It was as if someone else had taken over her. She spoke what she normally wouldn’t speak, but she was feeling again. “Go back to your little perfect family, and don’t come back.”

He stared at her, like someone caught in trouble and looking desperately for an excuse to get out of it, while she awaited with the same blank expression that hadn’t changed since she closed the door.

“You,...you don’t really mean t,...” His words died on his throat, and she kept on waiting. Now it was his turn to swallow whatever words he had to say, and closed both hands into fists at his sides. If she didn’t know any better, she would guess she had just broken his heart, which was funny, considering he broke hers the moment he made her fall in love and kept her hidden like some embarrassing secret. She thought of those times she saw him at some party or another, with his wife on his arm, and refused to think of all the times he found for any excuse to sneak away with her. All she could hear in the deadly silence of her living room was Fulvia’s voice telling her that  _ her  _ husband would soon be tired of her and she’d be replaced with the next pretty face, but she couldn’t hear him back in his villa, telling her there was nobody she could worry about. She couldn’t remember, or maybe wouldn’t, the time he promised to soon make her the only one.

“Go.” she whispered, the image of the man in front of him mixed up with that of him but a few weeks prior who just stared at her in the moonlight, but now the warmth was gone, replaced with a coldness that matched the weather in her heart.

He opened his mouth, but then he closed it, turned around and marched out, slamming the door shut.

The resounding ‘bang’ of the wood seemed to echo throughout her apartament, and she sat on the couch, suddenly not as cold as she had been that morning.

* * *

  
  


She did go back to Rome for Christmas, much to Geoff and Mariette's dismay. They had offered to spend it with them, but Lysandra knew Geoff always liked spending his holidays with his family and Mariette preferred to spend them with her grandma and aunt or in some strangers bed. Besides, she missed her family, and her parents didn't want her spending so much time alone, especially during such times.

Lysandra had the suspicion her parents thought she might attempt to kill herself, but she didn't think she was  _ that _ bad.

It had been her mother who was waiting for her at the airport, and they had spent the ride 'home' mostly in silence.

There, Cingerix had been waiting for them. Now  _ he _ she hadn't gotten the chance to miss, since he had been back at Poitiers the previous weekend.

"I guess this means you won't be doing my math homework anymore." He had said at some point, which had erupted the smallest giggle from her.

Her father was still at work, but he had promised to be back early apparently.

Lysandra opened Sabrina's cage and the feline didn't wait to get out, as lazily as she could, sniffing and looking around with the characteristic disdain only cats could muster. Much to Delphinia's disapproval, the cat climbed up the couch. 

"You spoil that animal." Was the only thing she said as she grabbed Lysandra's suitcase. She tried to take it, but her mother waved her away. "Your brother's been waiting; I think he had a selection of movies."

She turned to Cingerix, who was sitting near Sabrina as she licked her paw, going over an alarmingly big stack of films. One look confirmed the French woman suspicions: those were mostly Meryl Streep movies.

"Luca made your favourite cookies." He said, nodding towards the plate that had been set up.

She rose an eyebrow. Did they ever, for one single second, consider being at least a tiny bit subtle? She wasn't that far gone as to not notice what they were doing.

The worst part was, she didn't think it was working.

Still, she cared enough to play along, and walked around the coffee table to take a seat on the couch. She kicked off her shoes and jacket before grabbing the blanket Cingerix had bought from his room and wrapping herself in it. She patted her legs and Sabrina stretched before going over, laying herself over Captain America's face.

"What's first?" She asked.

"The one you like, where she's a violin teacher."

* * *

  
  


She woke up sometime later, and found Cingerix next to her, his head resting against her shoulder, drooling.

She moved carefully and when she stood he still fell face flat into the couch. She covered him with the blanket and took his boots off before heading into the kitchen to make herself some tea.

Her mother was there, sitting at the counter with a newspaper in hand. Lysandra had the suspicion Delphinia was the only person in the country to still buy those.

"I made you some tea." Her mother said, nodding towards the mug. Lysandra blinked. "You always wake up at the same time when you nap."

She nodded. Of course. She sat next to her and took the warm mug.

She remembered Antony saying something similar not that long ago.

The thought froze her for a moment, and she tried not to finish the next thought: which was that they were in the same city again.

Rome was big and the possibilities of running into each other were slim (Not that she planned on leaving the house at all), but the urge of running off to find him was unexpected.

"How are you?" Delphinia asked, making the newspaper aside.

Lysandra blew into the mug and took a small sip, eyes trained in front of her.

"Fine, I suppose. And you?"

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see her mother's shoulders lifting and falling in a near silent chuckle.

"You didn't even try, Lysa." She said affectionately, running her hand up and down her upper arm. She almost smiled, but instead took another sip. 

They remained in silence for a few minutes.

"When does papa come home?"

"An hour, maybe two."

"Oh, good, good."

She didn't know what else to say, so she said nothing.

Delphinia inhaled deeply.

"You know, you were supposed to be a middle child."

She looked over. She almost asked if she had been one of those who killed their twin in the belly, she had seen that in a horror movie, but in the end refrained.

"What?"

"Yes, you and Cingerix should've had an older sister." Delphinia said at peace with herself, staring at her empty mug. "But it didn't happen, obviously."

"What happened?"

Unconsciously, she turned to her. Her mother took in a sharper breath.

"Well, I was well into the second trimester, and it was raining. I was heading into the apartment complex your father and I lived at the time. It was one of those complex with a garden in the middle, those were the stairs are outside." She paused for a moment, and Lysandra nodded. Delphinia looked back down, at her daughters fingers. The skin  on the tips of the left hand was usually coming off, something natural for those who spend big amounts of time playing string instruments. The fingers seemed fine then, healed, for she hadn’t sat to play in weeks."I was coming home from work, and I tripped on the stairs on the way up, fell on my stomach."

Lysandra didn't say anything; she didn't know what she could say. It was strange, everyone around her seemed to have so many words to comfort her, they seemed to know what to say (even if it didn't work) and now she didn't know what to say in return.

"So I was meant to be the invisible child?"

Her mother’s eyes lit up, and a pretty smile adorned her face, seeming to grow younger for some moments.

"Yes, you were; but with how demanding you were from day one I doubt you anyone would’ve missed your presence."

"I was calm."

"When you slept you were."

Her eyes widened. Had her mother just threw sass at her?

She looked away, eyes landing on the empty sink.

"But that was an accident."

Next to her, Delphinia sighed.

"All miscarriages are accidents, Lysa."

"That's not true."

"Did you know of the child? Did you do something, on purpose, to lose it?"

"Well no, but…"

"Then stop beating yourself over it."

The constant 'blop, blop’ of drops falling into the sink filled the spaces in their conversation.

"It's weird; I never thought of having a kid before. I don't know why I'm like this."

Her mother placed a comforting hand on her back.

"It'll be alright. You'll get a better chance, in a few years when you're life is settled, alone or with someone better."

She opened her mouth to refute, to tell her that there was no one better than Antony for her, but instead thought of it better and turned back to her tea, taking a loger sip.

* * *

 

They were almost done with the Meryl marathon when it dawned on her.

Cingerix had gone red to the ears when he realized what  _ The French Lieutenant's Woman _ was about, but Lysandra did her best to brush it off. Her attempted joke however, seemed to have fallen flat and sank torturously into the ground, for her brother had asked if she needed a hug.

“Tissues? Ice cream? Chocolate? Girls like that, don’t they?”

She only asked him to switch movies, to choose something lighter, and he did so immediately.

He put on a comedy but she tuned it out and tried to think of anything that wasn’t Antony, and how close yet far away he was.

They were almost like a dream, her memories of him; all painted in reds and purples and all manner of intense colours. It wasn’t soft or pastel like it had been both times with Cassius, but it didn’t make it any less perfect. If anything, it only made it harder to let go of.

She couldn’t remember ever taking more than a week to get over someone.

Now, it hadn’t been  _ so  _ long since she last saw him (barely two weeks had gone by), and she had only told Geoff and Mariette’s about Antony’s visit.

Mariette had said she had it coming, and Geoff had glared at the laptop screen so hard Lysandra considered the possibility of rays coming out of his green eyes.

She had done an almost decent job of not thinking of him so far; of the way she had treated him, the look on his face or the harsh words they exch,...

She jumped to her feet, ignoring Sabrina’s meow of protest as she fell from her lap, a hand coming up to cover her mouth in horror.

He said he loved her.

He had said that he loved her and she had kicked him in the gut.

“No,...no,no,no.”

Her vision blurred as she felt weak on the knees. She fell on the couch with a heavy, dry sound, and just like that she was sobbing.

“Lysa?”

She could barely see Cingerix in front of her, but managed to bat his hands away.

What had she done? What had she done?

She could hear him saying it over and over as if he were there, his voice right in her ears.

“Pa! Ma!”

Lysandra hugged herself, trying to take deep breaths, but the pain had truly erupted that time, and she could barely attempt to inhale with the way her body shook violently with her laments.

A strong pair of arms engulfed her, and she felt herself be cradled.

What had she done? Ruined it, that’s what.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**The Other Woman**

**Part XV**

  
  
  


Lysandra threw her head back in a torturous moan as she climaxed, her fingers digging into John’s shoulders as he followed suit soon after.

He let himself fall on the bed beside her, and she said nothing and did nothing when he placed an arm around her.

It hadn’t been bad at all. John knew what he was doing, that was obvious, but there was still a tingle there, something that left her quite unsatisfied.

She knew what it was, of course, and she hated herself and Antony for it.

She had been trying to find something. What it was, she wasn’t so sure, but she knew she wanted to find something that would make her forget him, that would make her stop comparing every man to Antony.

It had all started after New Years, when Geoff and Mariette showed up in Rome and announced they were going back to France by car.

“A road trip?” she had asked from her place in the bed, hissing when her blonde friend yanked the blankets off of her, making Sabrina fall onto the floor.

“It’ll be fun!” had said Geoff, sitting at the edge and taking her hands, dragging her up into a sitting position. “We’ll get to know new places, and see different people, try food…”

“Or we can try to find the best club in Italy and the best hunk in it.” Mariette interrupted, winking at her.

Lysandra hadn’t protested, and instead let them move her around as they wanted. She did follow Mariette’s initiative though, and went out with her on a few occasions, trying to get drunk on the feel of someone else’s hands on her body. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, she would forget the fire that Antony’s had always ignited in her.

She had made it back to Poitiers with a list of conquests whose names she couldn’t recall, and as if being soaked with a bucket of ice-cold water, she had gone back to her robotic ways. She found two partners to make her thesis with, and one of them, John, had proven to be a nice enough distraction when the days seemed to drag on more than usual.

John had shared half her classes for years, and they were friendly enough with one another, but Lysandra had never seen him in a different light than that of the classmate she hardly considered a friend. He had become a friends of sort lately, at least to her body.

He was staring at her, but she said nothing, even when he rose a hand to move some hair from her face, and ended up clumsily stroking her cheek.

She wanted to push him away, his touch, now that she had come down from her high, seemed revolting, wrong.

“You’re pretty.” he said, his voice rough.

She still didn’t speak. Pretty though. She huffed, almost smiling. If Antony heard him, he’d launch into a monologue about how John was terrible at flattery and she wasn’t just pretty.

_ “A fucking goddess she is, that one.”  _ she heard his voice clear as day on her head, and closed her eyes in painful delight.

“Hey, would you like to, like, I don’t know,...um, grab dinner one of these days? Or maybe watch a movie?”

Jesus, Antony would have a field day with him.

She turned her blank stare on him. Those kind of men, the ones who usually left it up to her to make the calls, where the ones she had always gone after. They kept her happy enough, and she had been sure that that it was she wanted until she met Antony. He never made her do anything she didn’t want to, but he knew what he wanted and he went for it. He had wanted  _ her _ , and nothing had stopped him,...except her.

Yes, Antony put all her other boys to shame.

“I’m busy with the contest.” she said, and John nodded quickly.

“Right, right.”

She watched him for a few moments, and then stood up, wrapping the sheets around her torso.

“Prisha will be here soon, we should get dressed.”

She left the room without another word, wanting to be done with the day.

* * *

"The traitorous bitch." Mariette muttered, earning herself the disapproving glare of all the family members who heard her.

Lysandra coughed.

"She looks happy." She whispered, linking her arm with her friends.

Mariette gave her a side look.

"Happy? What about this could be happy?"

Lysa looked at front once more, where Mariette's aunt was about to burst into song as she shared a small smile with the groom. She had gotten herself a man ten years younger than her, and both friends had to admit that the older woman wasn't stupid to choose.

_ "Get it, girl." _

She shrugged, and Mariette scoffed, looking at the couple with slight disdain.

"She promised me we'd be old and single together." She whined, and then took Lysa's arm and yanked her close, muttering through gritted teeth."You'll never get married, right Lysa? Don't you dare abandon me.

Lysandra rose an eyebrow.

"Of course not. Calm down."

Who would she marry anyways? For a moment she dared think of Antony, but almost immediately shook her head to be rid of the thought. He was gone, he wasn't coming back and she didn't want him to either. It was better if she started to get used to the idea.

They remained in silence for most of the ceremony, with the exception of the time Lysa had to chastiate her best friend for taking out her phone to play some silly game.

“But Lysa! That asshole is back to destroy my farm!” Mariette hissed under her teeth. “I need to save my vegetables.”

“Enough, Mari!” she retorted, gripping the phone with such strength her knuckles turned white. “You can play later. This is important for your aunt.”

Mariette crossed her arms but gave up, slumping back in her chair, pulling on a grimace as the couple began their vows.

Lysandra tuned them out, and set herself to follow in on the motions of everyone else. When they clapped, she clapped, and when they stood up, so did she, following Mariette into the inside of the building, where the reception was to be held.

Lysandra greeted her friend’s relatives, asked about this and that other person and how they were doing, and nodded with happies or sympathetic smiles, half listening, nodding or shaking her head along their words, gripping the glass of vodka Marietta had put on her hand at some point.

It wasn’t long before the newly weds returned and started their dance, but she didn’t see it, too busy keeping company with the bartender as her friend made act of presence in front of her family for once.

She was on her third glass when she heard a familiar voice.

“Lysa?”

She turned, an unsure smile forming at the sight of her ex-boyfriend.

“Cassius, hey.”

He approached with a broad grin and engulfed her in a warm hug. She returned it, and for a moment, it was like being a teen again, back when the butterflies fluttered delicately on her stomach. The emotions, though delicate, hit her with the strength of a punch. It was a lot, compared to what she had been experiencing lately.

She and Cassius had always had a complicated relationship. They came and went. Lysandra had loved him, and some part of her would always love him she supposed, and everytime they met she told herself that maybe this time it’d be for good, but time proved her wrong over and over. Cassius was nice, he had always treated her right, and most of her family adored him (except her father, but he had never liked any of her boyfriends), but no matter what he did, she always got bored of him pretty easily. He treated like some fragile idol, as if everything she did or said was outstanding, which had been a nice boost to her ego, at first. After a while, she would kiss him just to shut him up.

A small part of her was forever expectant of something else, some sort of awakening just for him. A small part of her was forever expectant of him; hoping that maybe this time it’d be better, sure that he’d be the one she would settle with.

Someone like him would be a perfect match.

“I haven’t seen you in so long! I heard your father works in the italian embassy now.” he said, moving away, his hands lingering on her arms for a few seconds.

“He does, he does.” she nodded. “They all moved there. It’s a nice country.”

“Yes, it is; I have family there. It’s a pity though, those italians are so,...filthy and corrupt.”

She arched a brow.

_ You have no idea. _

But that was one of the reasons why she had loved h,... _ it _ so much there.

“People are like that everywhere, Cassius; I doubt the location has much to do with it.”

He shrugged, ordering wine.

“But on to something happier: how are  _ you _ ? I hear you graduated.”

“I did.” Lysandra smiled, proud of herself. With honors and all. She and Sabrina had said goodbye to Poitiers, and had moved back to Paris to continue on with the contest and look for a job. “I entered a contest; I’ll be conducting a philharmonic. But what about you? Are you still studying philosophy?”

Knowing his family, he probably wasn’t.

His smile fell a bit.

“No, no. I switched to economy.” he said, and she nodded, unimpressed.

Lysandra spotted Mariette across the room, speaking to her grandmother, both throwing dirty looks at half the guests. Lysa caught her friend’s eye and waved discreetly, but when Mariette saw Cassius, she pulled on a disgusted face and turned around, throwing her hair over her shoulder in a dramatic way.

_ Bitch. _

Cassius asked her something then, and they got on talking.

Sporadically, she lost track of time, enjoying the conversation every now and then. Cassius managed a few honest smiles from her, and she slowly, unconsciously, inched closer to him. She drank some more in an attempt to warm herself up, as did he, and then he looked at her the same way he always had, like she was some creature out of the world, but the butterflies remained dormant.

“Hey, would you rather go someplace quiet?” he asked all of a sudden, and just then did she realize that his hand rested atop of hers.

“Sure.”

He was staying in a hotel nearby, and for the entirety of the five minutes ride, Lysandra had an awful sense of dèja vu. Shaking it off, she got out of the car and took his hand when he offered it, much too large for her to find a comfortable way to hold it.

They walked in, and he was over her even before the doors of the elevator closed.

Lysandra kissed him back with urgency, emitting a small grunt when he pushed her against the door, hooking her leg around his hips.

They reached the floor and stumbled out and into the corridor, and she didn’t let go of him even to get the door open.

She fell on top of him on the bed, kicking off her heels, moving her lips to his neck. Cassius was gasping underneath her,

“Wow, you’ve missed me, uh?”

Missed him? She had barely thought of him on a few occasions, often to compare him with someone else; and even at that moment she wasn’t putting that much energy into their activities.

She had a passing thought that had it been Antony underneath her instead of Cassius, he would’ve asked if she was alright.

“ _ Are you into this at all, gattina?”  _ was probably what he would’ve said, before flipping her over.

She grabbed the hands slowly working their way to the zipper of her dress and pushed them down to her ass, but Cassius touch although sweet and fervent, remained soft.

“Are you ok?” she asked him, moving back a little.

His face was red.

“I’m perfect. You? You’re a little,...aggressive?”

“You think this is aggressive?” she asked in a sardonic tone.

“A bit, yes.”

She sat on the bed next to him, a peculiar expression on her face.

What.The.Fuck?

Cassius popped himself on his elbows, a pensive look on his face.

“You weren’t like this before.” he said, not unkindly.

“Uh-hu.”

Aggressive? She hadn’t strapped him to the bed and pulled out a dildo and lube, or a whip. She hadn’t even bit him once! Or scratched him!

Maybe that was the reason for Antony’s nickname.

She wished she could ask.

A hand was on her chin, and the next thing she knew, she was staring right into Cassius’ kind, green eyes, which glimmered with adoration as usual when he looked at her.

“Do you wanna try again? Slower, maybe?”

Lysandra nodded, and he leaned up and kissed gently, delicately. He laid her back down, taking off his jacket and throwing it somewhere, climbing atop of her, his hands travelling up her legs and into her hair, where he tangled them.

He didn’t pull though. Didn’t even attempted to. 

He moved his kisses to her jaw, and then down her neck, sucking softly on her pulse. Lysandra sighed, threatening to feel something again, and pressed her legs to his sides, bringing him closer, all the while staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face.

Cassius phone started ringing, but he ignored it.

Lysandra pulled on his shirt and sneaked her hands underneath and up his back, making him shudder.

The phone went off again and she dropped her hands.

“You should pick up.” her voice came off cold, uncaring.

He sighed in frustration, cursing the person interrupting them, and leaned over to where his jacket hung precariously off the edge of the bed.

“Hello?...Hi, honey…”

She looked up at him, suddenly interested in him, but he avoided her gaze.

“No,...no, everything’s fine. The wedding? I don’t know; pretty standard, kinda boring.”

She took the phone and checked the name and picture on the screen.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked slowly, glaring up at him.

_ “Hello? Are you with someone?” _

Lysandra considered putting the phone against her ear and telling the poor woman on the other side the good news, but instead she put the phone down and pushed Cassius off her, picked up her shoes, and went straight for the door, yanking it open with too much strength.

She could hear Cassius giving the woman a hasty goodbye before following after her.

“Lysa, wait! I can explain! It’s not what it looks like.” he said, a desperate tinge on his voice.

“So, that wasn’t your girlfriend on the phone?” she asked, pressing the button to call on the elevator and turning around.

Cassius swallowed, and hesitated a single moment before answering:

“Yes.” when she turned, he tried again, more urgent. “But you don’t have to worry about her.”

Lysandra huffed.

“Oh, I’ve heard that one before.”

“I’ll break up with her! Right no. I can call her now.”

“Do as you please. I’m going back to the party.”

“For you, Lysa.”

She turned around, a thousand words on the gates of her lips, but found herself mute.

What could she say? She had been on that position before, and she hadn’t care about the woman on the other end of the line, she had only cared for her own pleasure, and eventually for Antony.

She wanted to call Cassius many things, tell him how shitty it was of him to do that to that stranger, but found that when thinking of the words, her throat closed.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be that much of a hypocrite.

They stared at each other for a moment, and the strangest thing happened to Lysandra there: she could no longer recognize sweet, loving Cassius. It was like staring at an old friend, and getting amnesia from one moment to the other, and then that old friend passed on to be a complete stranger.

“I-I still love you, Lysa.” he said weakly, tears in his unknown eyes.

“Oh no,” she said, false pity on her tone as she entered the elevator and hit a button. she didn’t know which, she didn’t check. “how sad for you.”

He opened his mouth, but the elevator doors closed.

Lysandra looked at the panel, and sure enough, she had hit the wrong button.

* * *

  
  


She did found someone who had made her forget all about Antony for a few minutes.

She didn’t know his name, but she hadn’t need to.

She had been waiting for Mariette in a quiet bar near the heart of Paris when she saw him. Impossibly tall, with muscles for day and a not-so-friendly face. He was handsome in a rough way, screamed danger and had been staring right at her.

She felt hot immediately, and looking at the entrance for a moment to see if Mariette was there, she decided that she wanted him.

She looked back at him and got up from her seat, walking in his direction with a sway to her hips. The stranger looked her up and down, devouring her with his clear eyes, and a shiver went up her spine as she walked past him, her own eyes an open invitation.

Lysandra heard the sound he made when he got up, the legs of the chair dragging over the floor and heard slow, heavy footsteps behind her.

She entered the women’s toilet and checked that nobody was there. Placing her purse on the sink, she looked up through the mirror when the door opened and closed, making eye contact with him.

The stranger walked up to her and held her down against the sink. Lysandra kept on staring through the mirror, soaking wet.

He took her roughly, so much at times her pleasure threatened to be mixed with pain, but she enjoyed it. It had been simple. No talking necessary, just pure, brief lust.

She didn’t think of Antony a single time while the stranger fucked her, but the moment he pulled out, the bastard was right back there.

The stranger left her there, and she pulled her dress down slowly, tears of shame prickling in her eyes, body frozen in self-disgust.

Fuck Antony. Fuck Cassius. Fuck that stranger. She hated them both.

Antony because he re-wired her into his ways and broker her. Cassius, for reminding her that the only thing she could apparently be was a side chick. The stranger,...well,...she just wanted to hate someone else.

He had pleased her, yes, like no-one had in the past months since Antony, but now he was back there, and she craved the usual embrace that came after an orgasm more than she had so far. Instead of leaving her without a word, Antony would have wrapped his arms around her and peppered her neck with kisses, muttering something clever that would either make her roll her eyes or giggle. He would have cleaned her up and fixed her dress, but he wouldn’t have wanted to leave yet, and instead he would re-claim her as prisoner of his arms, just engaging her in a simple conversation, an act so simple but that would leave the warmest feeling in her.

That hadn’t mattered with the others, it hadn’t come to mind. The first thing she usually wanted to do when she was done with someone else was find another person, someone who could please her better, or just be left alone. Why did she have to remember those moments now?

Some part of her knew, but she refused to acknowledge it.

“Ah, fuck!” she slammed her hand on the sink.

She loved the asshole. Even after all those months, she loved him. It wasn’t just the sex she was seeking, but the overall feelings she got when she was with him.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She wondered if she would ever get over him, but didn’t dare to wonder if he still thought of her.

Lysandra sank to the floor, more than willing to drown on her misery when the door burst open and Mariette walked in. The blonde narrowed her eyes, green lips pursing at the sight of her.

“Ok, this has gone too far.” was the first thing she said as she locked the door and approached her friend.

“I screwed it up, Mari, I really did.” Lysandra started crying, not daring to look her in the eyes.

Mariette knelt in front of her and took her by the shoulders, shaking her roughly.

“Stop it!” with a hand firmly gripping her chin, she made her look up. Mariette seemed to ponder for a moment, and then she spoke: “You did, ok? You screwed everything up, Lysa, big time; but you can’t spend the rest of your life sulking. You need to own this, accept your mistake and move on. You had a shot with Antony and you blew it, but it’s not the end of the world. You’re gonna wash your face, go out there and have a few drinks, and tomorrow you’re gonna finish your concerto…”

“It’s a symphony.”

Her friend gave her a look that made her shut up and listen, oddly sober all of a sudden.

“Look, you’re gonna finish your symphony, and get yourself a bunch of music people to play it, and you’re all gonna go to this competition, and I’ll be there to support you even though I don’t understand shit of music, and so will Geoff, and your idiot brother and your parents; and you know why? Because we love you, Lysa, we love you so damn much, and seeing you like this doesn’t affect just you, ok? I know it hurts,” she slowed down for a moment, using her fingers to wipe her face from the tears. “I know, but he’s not coming back.”she said, gentle like she had never been before. “And you can let one broken heart ruin a good chance for you. It’ll all work out eventually, I promise; but you won’t get better unless you try, ok? And I really need you to try.”

Where those tears in Mariette’s orbs. Lysandra stared in silence as her friend tried to gain control of her watery eyes and bit her lip.

She would have to let go of Antony, wouldn’t she? A part of her didn’t want to, it wanted to hold on to him for the rest of her life; but a greater part seemed to stir slowly inside of her, and she realized that she also wanted to hold on to her family and friends, and she would lose them too if she kept pushing them away.

The part that wanted to hold on to Antony protested, but she shushed it as best she could and nodded, smiling weakly back when Mariette grinned at her and helped her stand.

The smile was minuscule, but Lysandra realized that it hadn’t taken that much of an effort to put in place.

* * *

 

Professor Laconte, always helpful, had set out to help her with her symphony; but first, Lysandra needed to finish it.

She sat at her piano on her apartment, the early sun rays warming her up on that cold, winter morning. She ran her fingers over the keys without pressing on them, and her eyes flickered up to the paper she had printed the previous day, after spending two transcribing everything and almost losing her mind in the process.

She placed her hands and fixed her posture, cracking her neck as she tapped her feet on the floor lightly, counting breathlessly to three two times before pressing, just a bit taken aback by the strange feeling of playing again after weeks of neglect.

She tried again, and again, restored to playing a few scales for some minutes until her fingers warmed up, and tried again. 

Her fingers moved expertely over the keys, and she didn’t need to look at the papers unless it was to make a small change on some passage or another.

She began to smile. Great. It sounded great, at least the way it was at the moment. She would have to try with the whole philharmonic. That was one of the requests for the contest: she had to direct a philharmonic, not her ideal orchestra.

She came to the end with a satisfied gasp, letting the last notes ring out through the small space, and nodded.

That was good. Now to check instrument by instrument.

* * *

 

Her harpist was great. Her name was Hessa, and she was a tall, lean thing with magic fingers. Lysandra wished the rest was as good as her ; there were some talents in there, but for the most part, it was almost as if only a few responsible souls had studied their parts.

She put her baton down with a growl.

“For the last time, back there with the percussions, you guys are elevated so you can see me giving you entrance over the heads of the rest, so can you please PAY SOME FUCKING ATTENTION AND DON’T PUT YOUR FEET THERE, PATRICE!”

The boy in question, a seventeen year old with small eyes, opened his in such way that for a moment it was almost like having a real life Gollum there with her. With a frown, she glared down at the cellists.

“And you! Don’t you know how to count? It’s a 6/8, it’s not hard!” then, she centered on the violas. “You! Can’t you tune a single note?...Nevermind, of course you can’t; that’s why you’re not violinists.”

There were some scattered chuckles around the group as Lysandra sighed, rubbing her temples. She needed patience; after all, they had only started practising a week prior, and still had a month and a half to go. Besides, they were teenagers after all, and pretty good for their ages.

She rose her baton again.

“Alright, we’ll take it from bar one hundred and thirty two, that means clarinets, flutes and harp are resting, but please, for the love of the fucking pope, keep count. You can’t depend on me alone.”

* * *

  
  


Lysandra pulled on her sleeves, as if trying to cover more skin would somehow make her less nervous, and took a small peak at the full seats on the auditorium, swallowing hard.

Hessa, the harpist, came to stand by her side and took one of her hands in both of hers.

“Deep breaths, boss.” she said lightly, an encouraging smile on her face.

Lysandra did as she was told, and for once didn’t bother in telling her to not call her ‘boss’. She gave the girl a small nudge, and Hessa let go, taking a deep breath and putting on a big smile before going out.

Walking back a bit, she stood in front of a small table and took her baton out of its  case, slowly running her fingers through it as she heard the people clap for the first two violinists as they went out.

_ ‘Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You’ve practiced, and so did they. You’re ready.’ _

She gripped the baton thightly, turned around, and without giving herself the opportunity to think too much on it, marched out.

The auditorium was’t the biggest one there was in Paris, but it felt as if half the country was there, waiting to see her mess up.

She forced a smile on her face and prayed she didn’t look like a deer caught in headlights. The applause didn’t make itself wait, and she advanced through the rows, careful of not bumping into the musicians as she went, and carefully stepped into the podium.

She turned to her audience and bowed slightly, as elegantly as she could while trying to hide the trembles of her body. Looking into the audience, she relaxed considerably when she saw her parents and brother, and next to them her cousins (her aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to make it). A row back, Mariette rose a hand, index and pinky finger up while Geoff smiled, and Lysa almost laughed.

She looked up at the boxes and froze, the nervousness coming back when she spotted him, sitting alone, looking down at her. She couldn’t make out his expression, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

She turned away from the audience and him and opened the folder, looking up at her team, eyes running through all of them quickly to make sure everything was in order.

Her hands were sweating and she could hear no sound but that of her heart beating furiously.

Her eyes settled on Hessa and she nodded briefly, looking down at all she had to read for a moment and trying not to think of how many different things there were there, and settled again on her harpist.

The musicians were in place, looking up at her, so Lysandra rose her arms and gently began to do her job. 

Hessa started to play, the sound sweet and lonely, filling the silent room in a bittersweet way. Lysandra looked down and passed the page, and using her free hand to signal the strings. Violins and violas rested on their shoulders, the cellos leaned forward, bows at the ready, and when she commanded, they all joined in perfect synchrony.

She forced a deep breath out and pointed at the winds. First clarinet was ready already, and the girl kept her eyes on Lysandra as she started the melody. Four bars and the other winds joined along with the percussions, and she couldn’t help but smile in pride, both for herself and the group.

Her body began to relax. She passed another two pages and gave the second cello a sharp, quick glance when he messed up and played during the silence, but forgot it just as quick and kept on going. Hessa had now ceased playing, but Lysandra took the time to check that she was counting.

Her body followed the motions of her arms, and she almost giggled when she noticed she was doing it, that thing all directors did that made them look like insane people. The standing epilepsy, her brother would call it, much to their mother’s disapproval.

She relaxed bit by bit, and the smile on her face transformed into a genuine one, even when  they entered a slower, more somber movement. She turned to the violin, and signaled Hessa, and her eyes blurred a bit while they played the most depressing bit of the piece. She hoped he was listening, truly listening this time, and with that kicked him, and everything else, out of her mind.

The room filled with silence for a few seconds as they turned a page and got ready for the last movement, and Lysandra was taken aback. The last already? They headed into it with no hesitation thank the lord, the sound energizing her as they played.

The strings held the anticipation as the winds built up the madness and then they all let go, and she grinned when they didn’t fuck it up as she thought they would. The madness turned dark, and she slowly guided them to the tragic end.

She closed her eyes, and flashes of a short sword and a desperate cry filled her head, a woman screaming, a body falling to the ground in a pile of red blood and a hand reaching out to her.

She opened them again, and suddenly it was Hessa playing again, the rest accompanying in a somber  _ piano.  _ Higher up the scale, and higher, but then down, and just a dash of bittersweet hope as the last few notes rang out.

The music stopped, and only when it stopped echoing did the musicians lower their instruments and Lysandra her arms, which she hadn’t noticed till then but were aching a little.

With a shaky breath, she turned to the crowd, taking some joy in the applause, and even more so on some of the ovations, even if most were from her family and friends. She bowed and looked up, just in time to see him get up and leave.

Lysa didn’t let that bother her, and instead stepped down from the podium to shake the first violinist hand and motion for Hessa to walk forward.

She was high on adrenaline as they all stood in front of the crowd and bowed, and then she was beaming as she turned one last time to the team.

_ ‘We did something good.’ _ she decided, feeling like she was about to burst.

* * *

  
  


It was a nice albeit hot day in Paris, and Lysa found herself walking down the street after dropping her cello and bow to her usual luthier for a cleaning when she stopped in front of an electronics store. She almost kept on going, if it weren’t for the faces she saw on the screen and the headline.

**“President Juliani presents Conti as his new President of the Senate”**

That bald, shit faced party popper was speaking to a reporter, his expression dull, his eyes irritated, and next to him stood Antony, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world, a small, lopsided grin on his face, but Lysandra couldn’t help but notice how tired he seemed. It was like had aged ten years in the past six months.

Lysandra bit her lower lip, admiring the way the wrinkles formed around his eyes as his smile grew and his eyes shone in a way that told her the reporter had just said something he considered stupid but amusing. She almost smiled when he opened his mouth, sure that the poor man was about to be destroyed by Antony’s snarkies responses.

He rose a hand to scratch his temple, and the only thing she noticed was the lack of a wedding band.

Had he gotten divorced? Or maybe he gained weight and needed a new one? Maybe he changed it to his other hand.

Lysandra shook her head.

That wasn’t her business.

“Lysandra!”

She turned around with a surprised but happy smile, taking a few steps to meet Sabina halfway. She leaned forward and gave the italian woman a kiss on each cheek.

Sabina looked taken a back for a moment, but her cheeks acquired a small tint of rose and the corners of her mouth lifted.

“It’s been a long time,” she said. “How have you been?”

Lysandra placed her hands on the pockets of her skirt.

“I would've been better if you had texted me from time to time, cher.”

If Sabina had been pink before, she was completely red now, all the way to her ears.

“I meant to, but Rodrigo ripped the paper to pieces and threw it. He didn’t believe me when I told him it wasn’t a man’s number.”

Lysandra hummed, balancing on the back of her feet.

“Really? And what did you do?”

“I slapped him.” Sabina muttered sheepishly, and then added, fidgeting with her hands. “And then I yelled at him and broke our engagement.”

Lysa stood straight a that, her heart fluttering.

“That’s great! I’m so happy for you, Sab!”

“Thank you.” she responded, her quiet response containing a lot of excitement behind it. “My parents weren’t so happy about it.”

“What did you do?”

“I told them I was gay and fled the house.” she said, with an uncomfortable snort, scratching the back of his neck. “I called my cousin Cassius, he flew to Rome to pick me up, and I’ve been staying with him ever since.”

“Cassius?”

“Yes, I realize it’s an odd name. His parents are,...”

“A whole study case, I know.” Lysandra nodded, crossing her arms, amused at the coincidence. “I know the Longinus well, I used to date him.”

Sabina’s eyes widened.

“Oh! So you’re  _ that  _ Lysa.”

The french woman snorted.

“Do I wanna know?”

“Not really. The reviews are mixed.”

Lysandra had to laugh at that, and after a moment, Sabina nodded to her left, where the t.v screen showed the last of the interview.

“How’s that going for you?”

She gave Antony a quick glance.

“Not a thing anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” she sounded sincere.

Lysandra shrugged.

“It’s fine, really. I’ve...um, I’ve learned a few lessons from that.”

“So not everything was bad?” Sabina asked, seemingly eager to get herself out of the gutter.

Lysandra smiled fondly.

“No, not at all.”

They remained in silence for a few seconds, and Lysa was just about to tell Sabina she had to go when the italian spoke up.

“I really need to thank you, Lysandra.”

“Lysa is fine.”

“...oh. Ok.” Sabine cleared her throat, looking away to the sidewalk, playing with her brown hair. “It was thanks to you that I stood up to my parents and Rodrigo.”

Now, that she didn’t expect.

“What?”

“It was the cd you sent me. Piazzolla.”

Lysandra nodded. Right. Just a year prior, she had run into Sabina in a music store and recommended her to give tango a try, but the woman had refused. Lysandra had bought the cd anyways, and had it sent to her parent’s residence along with a small note with her phone number in it right before she left for Poitiers.

“It was just a cd, Sab, a piece of plastic.”

“No,” she shook her head vehemently. “It was more than that, Lysa. That music did something, something that made me feel strong. I realized I didn’t want a life of sitting on a living room waiting for a man to come home all day, with only Debussy as company.”

Lysandra smiled softly, her eyes watering.

“Oh, wow. That’s very nice of you, but I still think it was all of you.” she gave Sabina a friendly shove on the shoulder. “You should be proud of yourself, Sabs.”

She nodded, pensive but happy.

“I think I am. I started taking this writing class at night. The teacher likes my poems.”

“You’ll have to read them to me one day, but for now, I gotta run. I have a job interview.”

A man had approached her after she had performed during the contest, and had made her a tempting yet unofficial offer to be the assistant to the composer of a t.v show that would be shooting a season in Florence.

Sabina seemed interested.

“That’s amazing! Oh, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Lysandra gripped the folder she had in her hand tighter, where professor Laconte letter of recommendation rested securely. She took out a pen and ripped a page from her blank sheets book, quickly scribbling her phone number and handling it to Sabina.

“Here. If everything goes smooth, I’ll be leaving the country next month, but we can talk. Don’t let anyone rip it apart this time.” she added in a lighthearted tone.

Sabina took it, folding it delicately before placing it inside her handbag.

“I will.” she looked behind her and turned with a frown. “I should go. Cassius’ girlfriend is doing it again. He makes me go out with her because I haven’t made any friends here yet.”

Lysandra looked over Sabina’s shoulder to a young woman speaking to a tall, dark haired man. She seemed to be twirling her hair in her fingers, leaning against his chest.

“That’s her?”

“Yes. You know? She kinda looks like you,...if you narrow your eyes.” she said, staring at the girl with pursed lips. “She’s always running off with some other guy. Do you think I should tell Cassius? I mean, she’s nice to me, but he’s family and what she’s doing…”

Lysandra laughed at the irony of it all.

“Leave it.”

_ Serves him right. _

Checking the time on her phone, she sighed, turning to Sabina, who looked much younger and relaxed than she had the last time they saw each other.

They smiled at one another, content with the other’s situation.

Lysandra kissed her cheeks again.

I’m really glad I got to see you, cher.”

“Me too. We can do it again soon?”

“Of course. Call me.”

They parted ways, going in opposite directions.

Lysandra pressed the folder to her chest, enjoying the sun on her skin and the sounds of the busy city.

She stopped at a red light for a second until it changed, and then crossed the street, butterflies filling her stomach as she approached the place where her interview was to be held.

Her light steps carried her into the building.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**The Other Woman**

**Part XVI**

  
  
  


_ It had been her idea to spend the weekend in Paris. There was some concert she wanted to go, and her crazy friend had to cancel at the last minute. _

_ "So I'm your second choice, gattina? I'm hurt." He mocked, putting a hand to his chest in a theatrical manner. _

_ She rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. _

_ "If you don't wanna go, then don't. But there's no way I'm missing this." _

_ But he had gone with her, and  fallen asleep almost right away. He was mildly surprised when he opened his eyes and found an amused looking Lysandra, telling him that it was over. _

_ "Really? Already? But i was having a great time." _

_ She had stood up, heading for the nearest exit and putting on her coat as he followed, yawning. He admired the way the straps of her dress went across her back, almost like the finest rope; But then she put on her coat, ruining his viewing. _

_ "I don't know why you came if you were so tired." She said it lightly, but he knew she was hiding her annoyance. _

_ He felt a but guilty. It was a boring event, yes, but she liked that sort of thing, and he couldn't at least try to fight the sleep. _

_ The truth was that he was exhausted, but he wanted to see her in the same measure as he wanted to sleep, and his love for her had won. _

_ He had driven them back to their hotel in silence, and she had gone straight to bed, not saying much of anything. _

_ He had woken up with the sun, and reached out to find that he was alone, the sheets still containing a fragment of her warmth. _

_ Antony got up and picked up his pants from the floor, going around the bed and out into the balcony, where she stood overlooking the city. _

_ He put his arms around her and she jumped, startled. _

_ "Are you ok?" He asked, making her hair aside and kissing the space between her neck and shoulder. _

_ "Yes. I just couldn't sleep." She said briskly. _

_ He knew there was something she wasn't saying, but didn't try to press the matter, and instead kept his lips on her skin. She sighed, leaning back against him, but then she turned in his embrace and looked up at him, opening her mouth for a moment as if to say something, but closing it again and kissing him instead. She tasted like peaches. _

_ Antony was never known for his tenderness, so he pushed her back against the cold stone of the balcony and she wrapped her legs around his hips.  _

_ He managed to undo his pants while keeping her in his grip, and didn't miss a beat before entering her, both of them taking in the delight and relief of the connection.  _

_ She clung to him, mumbling incoherences in French into his ear, and it didn't take long to near their release.  _

_ He leaned back a little, and he wasn't sure if he was out if breath due to the current activity or because of the way she looked as the rising sun hit her back, reflecting softly on her hair and skin.  _

_ "You're so beautiful." He couldn't help but whisper, and she stopped for a moment to look at him square in the eye, then smile and kiss him again. _

When he opened his eyes again, he met another set of eyes, the same colour as Lysandra's but so different. He could've told her eyes from anybody's even if a  hundred years passed.

The woman closed hers then and her jaw unclenched in a silent moan, and he tried to get the imagine of Lysandra out of his mind and finish his business.

* * *

 

“We need to focus on this election now, Antony. If we lose now, we won’t get another chance.” He refrained from rolling his eyes. Caesar loved being dramatic. “Please do and try to refrain from your most basic behaviour from now on, at least until after the elections.”

“I shall be a saint.”

Caesar hummed, looking at him carefully.

“And the girl, that mistress you frequent,...”

“Who?” he interrupted, swallowing back the not on his throat.

Caesar rose an eyebrow, the only hair on his head.

“The daughter of Subercaseaux.” with another hum, he went back to his papers. “You must’ve left her. Good. I would not have you ruin your career and put a stain on mine just because you wanted to fuck a twenty something.”

He didn’t say anything to that, even though there was a lot to be said about Lysandra and him. 

Had she left him? Or he left her? It was a bit confusing for Antony, he only knew that walking out the door had been a bigger mistake than marrying Fulvia in the first place. He wouldn’t ruin his career, that much was true, but even with his original plan of divorcing Fulvia and waiting a few months before letting himself be seen with Lysa would raise a few eyebrows anyway. He couldn’t imagine a possible scenario in which people didn’t look at them twice.

It didn’t matter anymore.

“I’m divorcing Fulvia.” he said out of the blue, getting only a brief, blank look from his friend.

“Truly? Why?”

“Because it’s only a matter of time before we kill each other.”

“It won’t look good.”

“I know.”

“How did you get her to agree?”

“I haven’t told her.”

“Hmp. She won’t like it.”

“I’m aware.”

“She has some information about you.” Caesar said, slower that time. “Some,...sensitive information. I’m not sure a divorce it’s a good idea; in fact, I don’t encourage it.”

_ ‘Well, all of a sudden I don’t give a fuck about what you want.’ _

“Don’t worry. I know what to do.”

“Antony…”

“I have it handled.” he spoke firmly this time, his expression dead serious.

Caesar paused, and both men just stared for a moment. Never, in all their years, had Antony spoken to him in such a manner, and he almost curse himself for doing so now.

Almost, because he then remembered how tired he was from all the fighting and sneaking around.

“Fine. Do as you wish. Just, don’t run off and marry some random whore half you age.”

He gripped the arms of his chair as tightly as he could, clenching his jaw till his teeth hurt all the way up to the sides of his head. She may not want him anymore, but that didn’t mean he was now all in for insulting her.

And who was Caesar to talk? For every time Antony had been unfaithful to his wife, Caesar had done it three more times, and most of them were around the same age as Lysandra anyways.

Besides, he didn’t want to know anything about marriage anymore. He’d been there, and it was hell. He just wanted to get on with his day and try and raise his son as good as he could.

* * *

 

He had been making her a garden. 

Well, not really making it, but he was paying some other people to do it for him. When he got asked what he had in mind, he only shrugged and said:

“Just fill it with flowers, as many as you can.”

It mustn't have made sense to the man, but it didn’t make sense for Antony either. He just knew that Lysandra loved flowers, that she one day wanted a garden so filled with them that there would barely be enough space to walk through without stepping on them; so that was what he was going to give her.

He was looking over it now, a work in progress obviously, as the gardeners tried to bring the earth back to life. There was a glass of whiskey on his hand, but he had forgotten about it, just like he had forgotten the name of the woman behind him, who was putting on her shirt again.

She was the assistant of his assistant apparently, but he hadn’t noticed her until that morning, when she came into the villa to ask him to sign some papers.

Antony said something, and she said something else in return. He smiled, and she smiled back. He neared her, and she closed the space between them with a kiss.

He fucked her on the floor of the living room, not caring about the possibility of anyone walking in on them, the only goal on his mind that of getting  _ her  _ out of his mind. 

It seemed to him, that the more he tried to forget her, the less possible it became. He didn’t see her anymore, and he couldn’t hear her voice nor remember her touch; and that very absence was killing him. He took a woman into his bed, then another, and then another and so on, but they never felt the same. They bought him pleasure, and he gave them the same in return, but they didn’t come close to what it had been like with Lysandra. Everything was different, from the sounds they made, to the way they touched him or kissed him, and the way their curves felt underneath his hands, and that difference was killing him. He could close his eyes, and even then he wouldn’t be fooled.

It often made him angry, how much control she still had over him, but most times it only hurt.

It was already painful to be in that villa knowing she would never get to see it, and even more so to know he couldn’t just hop on a plane and go see her.

It was a wednesday, and he knew that on those days, at that hour, she must have been already awake and sitting at her piano or her harp, trying to get something nice before heading for her class of the day.

He headed towards the coffee table and carelessly signed the papers.

“Take these back to my office, will you…?” he left it hanging there, waiting for her to tell him her name again.

The woman frowned, putting on her heels again.

“Rosa. Definitely not Lysandra.” she spat, taking the papers with an aggressive manner.

He hid his feelings.

“Right. Sorry about that. Well, do that and then call to my son’s school…”

He kept on talking, piling task after task, and soon after she was out the door, smoke coming out of her ears.

He let himself fall on the old couch with a weary sigh. So he hadn’t imagined it; he had called her name. Was that the first time he did such thing? A bitter laugh escaped him. Why? Why did this have to happen to him? Why at that point of his life?

And now he was thinking of her again. The blank look on her face as he yelled at her for not telling him about the child, the iciness of her voice when she told him to leave. He hadn’t lost time when he got back to Rome, and at the first chance he had to fuck someone, he did. He had been angry and he wanted to hurt her the same way she had hurt him. He wanted to forget the look on her face and the tone of her voice, and how he had walked out without putting up a fight, instead of holding her and telling her everything would work out.

But he hadn’t. He had been blind by the fury ever since her father told her she had been in the hospital. Antony hadn’t expected the first punch, nor the second or third, and he hadn’t expected Victus to be the one to deliver it either. Caesar, who had been the closest to the two, held him back as Antony’s hand went up to his bloody nose.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he had asked, resisting the urge of returning the favour. That was (he hoped) his future father in law, and the last thing he wanted was for Lysandra to be mad at him for punching her father, even if he had been the one to start the fight.

Victus didn’t answer him, and instead growled at him to stay away from Lysandra. Antony had sighed under Caesar’s glare. He knew, of course he did.

He tried to keep his mask on as he denied everything left and right.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you insane, man? I don’t even know her.”

He had his heart in his throat. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed of Lysandra, but there were some people around him, and the last thing he needed was word of his affair getting out.

Murder danced in Victus’s eyes.

“Oh really?! So it wasn’t you who got her pregnant?”

If he could’ve fallen flat on his ass, he would’ve. Caesar glared at him, but Antony had ignored him.

“What? What do you mean by that?”

The image of Lysandra with a round belly popped into his head, and he began to get just a tiny bit excited, his mind racing. 

Fuck his plan, he would find a way to divorce that very night if it was true.

“You! You fucking piece of shit! You made my daughter a fucking side piece, you got her into a hospital, and you didn’t even dared to show up! Didn’t even cared to call! To see if she was alright?”

“Hospital? What hospital?”

Dread had filled him then. Why was she in the hospital. Why didn’t she tell him?

He had been calling for the past days, but she never answered, not even a single text, not even a smoke signal.

But the man didn’t answer him, for Caesar dragged him away, shooting Antony a look to let him know they’d be talking later.

He didn’t care. He had turned around and marched right for his car, putting his phone to his ear and trying to get a flight to Poitiers. He could do damage control later, but at the moment he had needed to make sure she was alright, that their child was alright.

“Sir?”

Antony looked up at one of the gardeners.

“Yes?”

The older man gave him a look of slight concern.

“I was just, heading to the kitchen, sir, for water and…”

He waved him away with his hand.

“Sure. Don’t even ask.”

He got up, gathered his things and turned his back to her garden.

* * *

 

Fulvia stared at him, and he stared right back. She looked at him as if he were the lawyer of the opposition, and was trying to find a weak spot, while he stared at her trying to decide what was a good enough offer to make her sign the papers.

Finally; he spoke up:

"See it this way: if you do this, we'll destroy all the evidence we have on each other."

She crossed her arms, her wedding ring shining in a way that hurt his eyes.

"Ha! And how can we ever prove that? Besides, if Caesar wins and he makes you President of the Senate, I'll have more benefits than some burned papers. The scale isn't balanced."

She had a point.

"After I'm made President, I'll give you a seat in the Senate."

He didn't really want to, but what he wanted more than anything at the moment was to be rid of that wretched woman, and Fulvia wouldn't let go as long as she had something to take advantage from.

Her clear eyes lightened, and she uncrossed her arms.

"I'm listening." She said, her eyes driving down to the divorce papers he had planted in front of her.

"You keep your money, I keep mine and full custody of Alex. You can visit whenever you want."

"Not That! The chair in the Senate."

He rolled his eyes. Of course. He should've known.

* * *

“Is it my fault?” Alex asked him one afternoon, sitting in his father’s armchair, his little legs absentmindedly dangling back and forth.

“No, no, of course not.”

“But Davi and Maria’s parents got divorced too, and she said her dad told her it was her fault and her brother’s fault.” he hurried to argue, tears sprinkling in his eyes, and Antony sighed.

David and Maria’s father was a scumbag anyways, those two were better off without him.

"Well, you see…" he struggled to find the words, not knowing how to tell him he had no idea of how to raise a kid on his own, hoping he didn't ask much about visiting hours with his mother. If Fulvia had been busy before, she'd be twice worse when she got into the Senate. "Your friend Nico, his parents are divorced, right?" Alex nodded, looking worried still. " But they get along, and he's happy, isn't he?"

"But you and mommy don't like each other! I know!" He blurted out.

"What?"

Alex seemed embarrassed then, and didn't meet his father's eyes as he spoke.

"I know you don't sleep here most nights. Juan says that you come home late but I know he's lying. I've stood up entire nights and you don't come; and if you do, mommy's almost never here. And when you're both here, you're always screaming at each other, and she always gets this angry look when I mention Lizzie…"he winced, playing with his fingers and Antony's feet went cold. Why did he have to bring her up? "Did mommy scare Lizzie away? Is that why she doesn't call?" The kid's eyes filled with unshed tears and Antony kicked himself."Did I make her mad?"

He took the child in his arms and hugged him to his chest, rubbing his back up and down as he cried.

He had a knot on his throat. What to say to a kid? That he had gone with his latest idol behind his mother's back? That everything that could go wrong had gone wrong and Lysandra didn't want to see him anymore? It was his fault that Alex had lost touch with her; she didn't call anymore and Antony himself didn't allow his son to call her, much to Fulvias amusement. And Fulvia? What could he say regarding her to comfort Alex?

He wished Lysandra was there, he wished he could call her; ask her what to say. She was always good dealing with Alex, better than he or the child's mother ever were.

"Everything will be fine." He whispered instead, over and over, as Alex wept on his shoulder.

He ceased his sobbing for a moment.

"You promise?"

"Yes."

"...Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Antony chuckled weakly.

"Just tonight."

* * *

 

 

Just like he had been making her a garden, he had also been making her a room to work in, but he had forgotten all about it.

...Until a big, black piano arrived, and he had two men standing in front of him, asking where to put the instrument.

He stared, dumbfounded.

“Um,..just,...just take it there.”

He pointed to a set of doors behind him, and the men set themselves to the task.

Alex walked up then, backpack on his shoulders, stopping dead on his tracks to watch the big piano.

“Woah! Is that for me?!” he asked, eyes shining.

Antony was still standing there, staring at the now empty spot. His assistant, Hugo, cleared his throat and discreetly looked at the child.

“Oh? No, no. It was for Lysandra.” he said, not taking notice of how the child’s face fell.

“Oh.” he paused, approaching his father, his steps now less energized. “Why can’t I call her anymore?”

“Because I said so. Now, do you have everything?”

Alex nodded, and Antony looked down and frowned.

“Are you sure?”

His eyes widened as he looked down, and then palmed his forehead, turning and running back to his room.

“My maqueta!”

Antony sighed a lifeless laugh, shaking his head as Alex returned with a model of their new home that was half his size. Those stupid school projects. He had had to stay up till two in the morning to help him finish it.

“What do you have there, Alex?” asked Hugo politely as the three of them headed out.

Alex managed to look up.

“A school project! We had to make a miniature of our home!”

Home? He wouldn’t call it that, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he took the damned thing from Alex’s hands before the child tripped and trashed it.

* * *

 

When Fabricio walked through the door, Antony smiled as if he were the devil himself, waiting for a soul astray.

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally decided to show up to work.” he spoke softly, not making an attempt to get up from his seat behind Fabricio’s chair, keeping his feet up on the desk, getting his books muddy. It was raining outside.

The man did his best to act natural, which was quite a pitiful attempt.

He clapped his hands together and laughed nervously, approaching with strange steps, almost as if he were trying not to break into a dance.

“Hey, boss! So good to see you! What brings you here?”

Antony kept his eyes trained on the man, not moving an inch, trying to see how long it would take him to make him sweat.

He wasn’t really the boss. The restaurant was owned by someone who liked to wash money every now and then, and he collected a small fee in exchange of keeping the evidence locked up. It was a famous place, and the several locas extended across the country.

Fabricio was just the manager, for the time being.

“I just came to collect my dessert.” he said casually, leaning back in the chair, looking relaxed.

“Oh, right!” Fabricio said, going over to a safe.

“Don’t worry, Martina already gave it to me.”

“Ah, right. Cool, cool.”

He stood there with both hands on his hips, looking to the side, and Antony didn’t attempt to move.

He was late to his actual work, but there was some little thing to take care of.

“You know, Fabricio, Jimena is a really nice young lady.” he began, as if talking about a mutual friend and not a waitress he had only met minutes before.

The man nodded quickly.

“Yeah, she’s alright I guess. Been working here for about a year? Year and a half?” he made a motion with his hand.

“Mm. Yes; she seems to be good at her job.”

“She is, she is.”

“I mean, it’s not easy being a waitress. You have to balance all that food, run around in between all those tables that always seem to be too close no matter how you arrange it, you have to deal with shitty customers who treat you like shit and don’t even leave a tip sometimes…”

“Yes, it’s all so terrible, but you know what?” he smiled, and Antony rose his eyebrows in signal that he was listening. “We manage. He, he! We pull through with a smile in our face.”

“Yes, I know, I know, but I imagine it can’t be easy feat…” his smile dropped then, and he gave Fabricio his most serious look. “Especially when your boss goes around sticking his hand where it doesn't belong.”

Oh good, he was sweating now.

Fabricio pulled at his collar, trying to maintain his composure.

“What?”

Antony stood up abruptly, and Fabricio jumped. He grabbed the man by his ugly shirt and pulled him close, so close that he could feel his disgusting breath mingling with his. God, had that man puked and didn’t wash his teeth or was it always like that?

“Listen now.” he began in a low tone, almost growling. “I know I’m not the most upstanding citizen, but I do have limits, and you wanna know one of them?” 

“S-s-sure, boss.”

“I really hate it when someone puts their hand on someone else without permission, and what I hate even more when that person doesn’t stop when being told to.” he chuckled as the other man trembled in his grip. “And you know what I really hate most? When that person threatens the other into silence. That behaviour is really, really pathetic, Fabi.”

“I didn’t,...she’s lying.”

“Truly? And what about Aurora? And Giovanni? Elizabeth? Are they all lying?”

“They, they, they hate me, boss. They want me gone.”

Antony hummed, letting go of him.

“Yes, and I can see why.” he said, backing away. He nodded to the door behind him. “Go. You’re fired. Elizabeth will take your place, since it seems she’s been doing your job for you for some time anyways.”

He stared open mouthed, and Antony waited.

“But you can’t! You’re not the owner!”

His smile didn’t drop.

“Fine. In that case,...Mateo!”

The door behind him opened, and Mateo walked in. He was almost two meters of pure muscle, and looked even less friendly than his ex-wife.

“Mateo here will take you home. You two will have a nice chat while I make sure your co-workers settle in good for the day.”

“W-ait! Wait! I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again, I swear!”

Antony walked out still smirking, but feeling exhausted on the inside. 

Just great. The day was just starting and he already had to deal with that crap.

* * *

 

He tried to keep his cool, to stay collected, if only for the sake of the team running around him and the people waiting to hear from him.

Because now it was him the one who had to comfort them, at least until new elections can be called upon.

...but Caesar was dead. He was out of the car, helping his wife out and then he was dead, slumped awkwardly across the backseat door, and he was being led away, not even able to check if Calpurnia was alright. The woman saw her husband die right in front of her; if that didn't wake her, nothing would.

His team put together a comforting speech in record time, and through his shock, he had to admit he was impressed with the quality of it. He made changes though, switching some words for others and adding some pieces: he wanted it to appear personal. The people of Italy was scared, and to appease them they needed a sense of unity, and  what better to rally them together than a wounded friend?

He got a video call from Fulvia right after, and his surprise melted into overwhelming relief when Alex's face appeared on the screen.

"Dad I wanna go with you!" He cried into the piece of plastic.

Antony didn’t want the child with him at the moment. He didn't feel too good and being near him won't help; he'd worry too much and the kid would end up more scared than he already was. Besides, there was no way to know if he wasn't a target as well that day. It was better if they didn’t take any chances.

"Stay with your mother, ok? I promise I will send for you tomorrow."

He did his best to calm him down, and in the end gave Fulvia the name of some medication that should help him sleep.

"It's on his backpack." He told her, hanging up almost right after, not in the mood to deal with her.

Who was ever in the mood to deal with that woman though? He'd never know.

Sighing, he tried to settle on the backseat of the car.

"Sir?" His assistant, Hugo, spoke up, his phone pressed to his ear. "I got a call."

"No shit."

"There's a woman wanting to see you in your house, sir. She says she knows you? Security  didn't want to let her in, but she's insistent so they're asking me now."

His heart almost trampled down a rocky hill at that, but he restrained it the best he could. Could it be…?

He didn't dare to hope, but he needed to know.

"What's her name?"

Hugo spoke into the phone, repeating the question.

"Lysandra."

"Well shit."

He stared right ahead, past his assistant. What could she possibly want?

He knew what he hoped she wanted; but something held him back from finishing the thought.

"Let her in; she's got keys anyway."

And if they didn't let her in the nice way, she would find some other way, the sneaky little snake she was.

He looked out at the oddly empty city. There were cars, buses and taxis, bikes and motorbikes and some people walking, but not as many as usual. He knew those still outside must be trying to get home, just like he was, or so he hoped.

They must’ve arrived at some point, but he didn't get out of the car.

Why was she back after so long? After all she had said and all that he didn't do?

He looked down for a moment, at his wedding band with the intention of taking it off before seeing her for a change, and remembered that he didn’t have it anymore. Some of the guilt faded away.

Slowly, he got out of the car and walked into the villa. His team hadn’t wanted to take him there, but very few people knew he still owned the place; if someone wanted to attack him, they’d probably try one of the presidential houses.

He was suddenly very aware of the remodelations he had made to the place. Had it been too much? Had she noticed?

He saw a purse on the coffee table when he made it to the living room, but no signs of his own personal nightmare. Looking to the right, he huffed softly, almost smiling at the big double doors that were ajar. Of course she’d be there.

He walked towards the doors and as silently as he could, opened them, leaning against the threshold and crossing his arms over his chest. She was sitting at the piano, her fingers running over some random keys, clearly unable to focus. The sun was setting, some of its orange rays filtering into the room and lighting her up, almost like a dream instead of a nightmare. It made for a strange view, one that until that moment had only existed in his head, as some fantasy he allowed himself every now and then, only in the safety of the darkest hour in the night; and at that moment there she was, and he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to pretend that it was something usual, that she was always there at the end of the day, and that she was there because that was her home as well.

What should he say to her? Was she there for something in specific? Was she there for him? He hoped so. Should he apologize? For what had happened almost a year back? For not even trying to fight back? He probably should, but there were no words he could think of to express his message.

She stopped playing, but kept her eyes trained on the keys, and noticed that her hands seemed to be shaking the slightest bit.

She turned in the seat then, and her body went rigid.

He did his best to maintain his composure, but after all that had happened in the past year, in that very same day, he really just wanted to walk over her and just be in her gentle embrace.

He stared back, not saying anything, not betraying anything.

Fuck. He still needed her. He still loved her.

“Antony.” she greeted, her voice as shaky as he hands had been a few moments prior.

“Lysandra.” was his dull reply, walking into the room and closing the door behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Other Woman**

**Part XVII**

  
  
  


She woke up early that day, to the sound of Vivaldi’s Autumn, and glared at her phone through half-open lids.

“I hate you so much.” she muttered to the little plastic device, gathering courage and stretching out one arm, getting it out of the warmth of the blankets so she could turn off the alarm.

She laid back, running a hand through her hair and sighing.

Another day had to start. 

The bed wasn’t so warm anyways, not when it was only her, so she counted to three, pushed the blankets back and stood up, socked feets moving swiftly across the wooden floor, producing a thudding sound.

She took out a fresh set of clothes and headed to take a shower.

Lysandra looked herself in the mirror when se emerged back, hair wet as she brushed her teeth. Spitting, she stood there for a moment, and it still was hard to fully accept the fact that life had moved on. Where had the past two and some decades gone to?

She almost smiled. She was starting to sound like an old person.

She went out and set herself to make some coffee, sitting in front of her cello while it brewed, starting to warm up her fingers with some exercises.

Halfway through, her coffee was done, so she put her cello back in its place and untensed her bow. She wouldn’t need to take those today.

She had just closed the lid on her thermo when her phone went off. It was a text from her boss, with his order of breakfast.

She put on a coat, gloves to keep her hands warm, and her bag, checking that everything she would need was there before taking her thermo and keys and leaving her cold apartment.

The hallway was warmer than her apartment, but then again, she lived in a small place and had to make some sacrifices: it was either she was warm or the place had a more adequate temperature for her cello. Wooden instruments needed the cold and the dry weather, and she wasn’t about to fuck up the sound of the poor thing.

Exiting the elevator, she greeted the guard on the lobby, who was barely awake, and kept on going outside, where the cold air hit her immediately, refreshing her. Just one block away there was a parking lot, and in it her car waited.

Mariette had taught her how to drive over the summer. It had taken several weeks, and a lot of yelling and cursing, but she had finally learned.

She got in and turned on the radio, tuning into a random podcast.

**_“...the new collection by Paolo Ricci, in remembrance of the terrors attack that took place in the early 90s during the Maxi Trial against the Sicilian Mafia will be presented to the public later today, at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna. The,..uh, the opinions of the people regarding this new collection is divided; we have people excited about it, some other are not as excited,...and…”_ **

Lysandra stopped at a red light as another voice interrupted the locutor.

**_“I mean, can we blame them? Those in opposition seem to agree that we were safer before the anti-mafia measurements from uh, from 92.”_ **

**_“Safer with a bunch of criminals?”_ **

**_“_ ** **_Hey, that’s what the poll said. Ok, here’s the thing: people are not happy with politicians. We’re almost eighteen years into this century and we’ve had five different presidents! Two who resigned, and one who was impeached. These people remember what it was like before 92, and these families,..yes their business was illegal, but they protected their territory, and the people in it.”_ **

**_“For a price, right? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you had to pay for that.”_ **

**_“Some had to yes, but for the most part they kept the people safe.”_ **

**_“They weren’t safe! They were scared of pissing them off! They were scared of a bunch of armed maniacs getting into their homes at night and dragging them off bed and killing them in front of their kids.”_ **

**_“You’re getting confused there, my friend. You’re thinking of the army now.”_ **

**_“...Are you seriously defending these people?”_ **

**_“I’m not defending anyone, I’m just trying to understand the reality for these people, and why they think that an art exposition in honor of a few politicians who in their eyes, failed to do their duty, is distasteful.”_ **

**_“And those who think it’s a good idea?”_ **

**_“Those tended to be on the more conservative side, some were too young to remember the success, but yeah, it’s very divided, and I believe that the president’s presence isn’t helping much.”_ **

**_“Which brings us to our guest today: the President of the Senate is here with us, and he’s kindly agreed to discuss the matter at hand. President Conti, thank you for joi...”_ **

**“I wouldn’t say I agreed, I just didn’t have a choice. Do you always spit into the microphone? Seriously, it’s disgusting, I just had breakfast.”**

Lysandra had to laugh at that, carefully parking in her usual spot just around the corner from the studio and turning off the engine.

Balancing everything precariously in her arms, she marched inside the studio and headed for the second floor, where her boss was no doubt waiting for her.

She walked into a room full of people, and had to stop for a moment, not having expected it, and then remembering that actually yes, she should’ve expected it.

Her boss, Lorenzo, received her with a smile, snatching his coffee out of her hands.

“Grazie mille, cara.” he gave the drink a long, grateful sip, and she took a peek into the room where they would be recording. “What do you think of the arrangement for the drums?”

“How many sets do we have?”

“Nine.”

“I was thinking we could put a microphone in the middle and make a circle around it.”

He pondered on it, nearing the control panel and she followed, taking a bite out of an apple she had gotten a hold off before she left home.

“Didn’t Hans Zimmer do something like that?”

Lysandra nodded.

“He did, and it worked really well...but I think it was more of a U shape than a circle.”

He wrote some things down.

“Alright. We’ll try that. Go tell the others to re-arrange everything.”

* * *

 

It was just after midday, but she felt like jumping off a bridge already, or shooting herself in the head.

Lysandra had spent half the morning helping arrange the drums around a microphone, and then the other half listening to the musicians as they hit it over and over, and still Lorenzo wasn’t satisfied.

The drummers and the technicians were having lunch, but Lorenzo hadn’t stopped working, and neither had she.

“Maybe a few more lines.” she said, rubbing her eyes, wondering silently if it would look too weird if she slapped herself to stay awake. The coffee had been nice, until she ran out of it, and drinking more was out of the question. “Make the sound even duller, but interrupt it right before the forte.”

“Mm, yes, but I’m still not sure.” he said, manoeuvring the panel.

“What if we re-do it?” she suggested, leaning over him from behind, looking at his notes. “What’s this for? Some surprise attack scene?”

“Mhm.”

“We can start with one or two drums, piano or pianissimo, and then we add strength as we include the others.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly, staring into nothing as if he could hear what she had just described. He opened his mouth to speak, when someone marched in.

“Turn on the t.v!” it was one of the drummers, and his yell almost scared the living daylights out of him.

Lysandra looked up at the big t.v above the window into the recording room.

“What? Why?”

“The president was shot! He was shot!”

Both stared at the guy in shocked silence, but when he moved to turn on the device, they jumped.

Lysandra’s heart was racing. Dread began to fill her fiber of her body. The president? Of what? Republic or the Senate?

She pictured Antony laying on the ground on a pile of blood, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“..Wh…”she tried to speak, but every time she had a word, this one died. Her anxiousness grew. She needed to know, and she needed to not know. “Who?...which?”

They didn’t seem to hear her broken whispers, and she just stared in terror as Lorenzo switched into the local news channel.

Lysandra pushed herself off the panel so she could look up at the screen and tripped, being caught by the drummer.

Shaking like a leaf, she stared through blurry eyes.

It couldn’t be Antony. It just couldn’t. She could survive without him, but she couldn’t phantom the idea of living in a world where he wasn’t in it.

He could hate her all he wanted, so long as he got to live.

_ Please, let it be Caesar. _

Not Antony. Not her Antony.

The scene that was being re-transmitted on the screen left her cold. There was Caesar, getting out of the back of a car and waving at a crowd, going around to open the door for his wife. Lysandra saw Antony on the sidewalk, right before the steps of the Galleria, waiting at a respectable distance. 

The sound of a bullet rang off and a second later Caesar slumped against the open door of the car, blood staining his bald skull as he then fell to the ground. The camera zoomed in on him, but right before that, Lysandra got to see how a few guards jumped in front of Antony and took him by his arms, shielding him and walking out of frame.

Her heart dropped to his feet. He was alive. Or so she liked to think.

She needed to think he was alive. She wouldn’t accept anything else. 

It was like her heart was running a marathon, and at the same time it had gained several kilos. It beat fast and heavy in her ribcage, threatening to break beyond repair.

She turned to the drummer, who was looking down at his phone.

“Some people in Twitter are saying he’s dead.”

“Fuck.”

“What about Antony? What about him? Is he ok? Is he alive?” she asked in rapid succession, voice desperate.

She couldn’t lose him. She needed him. She needed to hear his voice, to feel his arms around her, and she needed her own arms around him, holding on and not letting him go.

“What?”

“IS HE ALIVE?”

Lorenzo leaned over the drummer’s shoulder and quickly swiped down.

“It seems Conti’s safe. Apparently he was taken out by security and into someplace safe.”

Someplace safe. That could be anywhere. Where did politicians go when one of them was killed?

She needed him safe, but she needed to see it for herself, to feel it for herself.

She almost lost him, Lysandra realized with terror.

She leaped towards her bag and grabbed it, heading for the exit, ignoring her boss’s questions as she pushed through, ignoring the elevator and running down the stairs and into the streets.

The streets of Florence were usually busy at peak hours, but it seemed a hundred times worse that day.

She pushed her way through to her car and got in, getting her phone out and calling her father as her shaky hands tried to get the damned vehicle going.

“Lysa? What is it?”

“Are they closing the border?” she asked.

“What border?”

“The city! Are they closing acces?!” she screamed into it, pressing on the gas and getting on the move.

“Uh, I haven’t been informed yet, but I’m assuming they will.”

“Tell them to let me through.”

“Are you insane? Don’t you dare come anywhere near Rome, young lady.!”   
“Papa! I swear if I get there and I’m not allowed in the nice way I’ll find some other way!” she all but growled.

“You’re not risking your life for that man, Lysa.”

She sobbed into the phone, trying to find a street that would take her out of the city quickly.

She had to see Antony. She could’ve lost him. She had lost him already, but that day she could’ve lost him forever. She needed him. She loved him still, she had never stopped, and there was no way she would go another day without him.

If he wanted to kick her out at the sight of her that was fine, but she needed to at least make sure he was still breathing.

“Please, papa.” she cried to him, knowing, in some small corner, that he would hate her next words. “I love him.”

Victus cursed and then stayed silent, while Lysandra turned on a forgotten road and headed south.

She wasn’t sure of how long they spent on the line without saying a word, but she was about to hang up and get on with plan B when he spoke again:

“Look, I can’t promise you anything,...but I’ll make some calls, pull a string or two.”

* * *

 

She managed to pass into the city with no problem at all, after maneuvering around all those cars and showing the lady in the toll booth her ID.

The drive around the city almost wrecked her nerves (what she wouldn’t give to have Mariette yelling some tranquility into her at the moment), people were driving or running around like mad men, and more than once she had almost been part of a collision.

She tuned in the radio, hoping that the noise would help her focus.

**“I speak not to disprove what his assassins said, but here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: what cause withholds you now to mourn for him?”**

She sighed unsteadily. Antony was alive, and that was a small but heavy relief. Her hands relax on the steering wheel, and she slowly leaned back to press her back to the seat, carefully taking a turn.

She turned off the engine, grabbed her purse and got out of the car, the cold november air hitting her abruptly and making her go stiff. Shaking herself, she headed into the driveway and let herself in..

She had bought her keys, which where in the same key holder as the ones to her apartment. She had never gotten around to return them and Antony never asked for them. Maybe he hadn’t changed the locks.

She walked up the short distance slowly, nervously fidgeting with the keys. He probably wasn’t there yet, and she wasn’t sure if she should let herself in.

Another shiver went up her spine. Fuck it. She had already trespassed anyways.

Lysandra was near the door when three intimidating men bursted out, guns in their hands, pointing at her head. She stopped, her eyes widening and her hands going up instinctively.

“Halt!”

If that was Antony’s way of saying he didn’t want to see her, she would find him anyways and give him a piece of her mind.

“What the actual fuck, dude?! Don’t point that at me!”

“Drop the bag, ma’am.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but did as he ordered and let her handbag fall to the floor. God, Mariette would be royally pissed at that; the handbag had been a gift.

One of the goonies stepped forward and grabbed it, quickly going through her belongings. He took out her notebook and began to carelessly flip through it.

“Hey! Watch it, Tarzan! That’s for my job.”

The other two gave her unamused look, which she returned, narrowing her eyes at the guns.

“Do you even know how to use that? Tell Antony this isn’t funny.”

The man stood up, keeping her notebook, and she gave him a look of bewilderment.

“Seriously, Tarzan? Why do you want those for? They’re just notes.”

Arrangements to be made, some small sections to be added to a piece or another. There was nothing dangerous there.

She sighed.

“Can I go in now?”

“How did you get in ma’am?”

Slowly, she lowered her left hand and janked the set of keys from her back pocket, raising them up and shaking them with a look that said ‘Duh’.

Antony had almost died that day, she wanted,...needed to see him, and she wasn’t about to let tweedledee, tweedledum and Tarzan keep her away from him. She also wasn’t about to let them put a third eye on her head.

The man from before stepped forward and snatched the keys from her hand, the gun still pointing at her.

“Great. Can I go in now? I’m cold.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to detain you, ma’am.”

She lowered both arms at that, glaring at the man in the middle, Tweedledee, the one who had been making conversation while the other just stood there and Tarzan trashed her notes.

“Detain me, is it? What for?” she neared the man, ignoring the gun that followed her movements, and knocked his hand aside, standing on the tips of her toes so she could get on his face. “Listen here, you little turd: I’ve been driving for around for the last five hours without stopping once. I’m hungry, cold, and I need a bathroom. So you’re gonna call Antony and tell him I’m here, or I’m gonna take your gun and shove it so far up your ass that it’s gonna turn into the Bermuda rectum,  _ capisce _ ?”

The man gave her an odd look, but his eyes shifted to Tweedledum and nodded once. Lysandra fell back on her feet and stared with her arms crossed over her chest as the other man got his phone out and dialed a number. He spoke into it, giving her weary looks, but she didn’t waver.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked, his voice low and deep.

“Lysandra Subercaseaux. You ever considered switching to opera?” she didn’t make a snarky comment when Tweedledum tripped over her surname.

After a minute, he hung up. 

“You may go inside, ma’am, but we need to check you first.”

She rolled her eyes, done with the day.

“Of course you do.”

She extended her arms to the side and parted her legs so Tweedledee could pat her up, and glared at him when he knelt in front of her. The man swallowed hard under her gaze, and hurried to check for weapons. He then stood and gestured to the open door behind her.

Looking like an angry cat, she spun on her heel and snatched the handbag from Tarzan’s hands, marching up the familiar steps of the villa and into the place, stopping for a second to gape at the place.

She walked in slowly, looking at everything and nothing. She almost didn’t recognize the place. The foyer and the living room had been painted of a lovely cream colour, and dark furniture filled the now well lit place. 

_ “Holy shit.” _

Too aware of the changes, she dropped her handbag on the coffee table with care, and continued on until she stood right before the set of double glass doors, admiring the resurrected garden.

It was filled with colour, even at that time of the year, and it made her wonder what it would look like during spring or even in summer. Everywhere she looked there were flowers. Flowers deep on the earth, flowers hanging from the threshold that surrounded the square place, and vines running around the columns. There was a thin path too, that began where the cobblestone that led to the garden ended, and this thin pat led to a big willow tree (which hadn’t been there the last time Lysandra had visited, and it made her wonder how Antony had achieved that. Had he bought the tree already grown? He must’ve). Underneath the tree there was a small, round table of iron. It was white, and there were three matching chairs around it, but they were covered in leafs.

She stepped back with her hand covering her mouth, too overwhelmed by the sight.

He had done that for her. It sounded arrogant, she knew, but she was also sure. As certain as her undying love for him.

She leaned back against the back of the dark coch, tears blurring her visions, her heart constricting in guilt, and jumped when something wet brushed her right hand.

She looked down to find a full grown galgo sniffing her, burying her wet nose on her hand and then proceeding with her leg. Lysandra didn’t move; she probably smelled like cat, thanks to Sabrina.

The galgo looked up at her and barked once.

Tentatively, Lysandra put a hand on the head of the dog and scratched it behind its ear. The animal move its tail and fidgeted in its place, and she sighed in relief, kneeling in front of her.

“Please don’t bite me, pretty.” she said, checking her pink collar. 

_ ‘Artemis.’ _

She blinked, seeing the same dog laying stiff on some hard, stone floor and a scream very far away echoed in her head. A hand grabbed at her arm and she turned to see an oddly dressed, slightly younger looking Antony. Was he wearing a dress? He pressed her against his chest and over his shoulder, a small girl and a young blonde woman dressed in an old looking, ripped dress gently led the child away.

Lysandra blinked again and smiled at the dog.

“How’ve you been, old girl?”

The dog barked, waggling her tail and stepping forward to lick her face. Lysandra turned her face and chuckled, and the dog put her head on her shoulder. She returned the animal’s hug.

She stood up, and the dog stepped back to look at her. She remembered Alex saying something about having a dog.

The dog bit the end of her shirt and pulled, indicating that she wanted to be followed. Lysandra assumed that Antony hadn’t even arrived yet, so she followed Artemis, not wanting to be left alone with her thoughts, not daring to look upon the garden again.

When she moved, Artemis let go of her and ran down a hallway. Lysandra stopped in front of another set of doors and watched as the animal took a tennis ball from the floor and walked back to her proudly.

Lysandra smiled when the ball was dropped at her feet and knelt to take it. It was probably a terrible idea to play inside the house, especially with a dog so big, but she needed the distraction. Carefully, she threw the ball down the hallway, and Artemis leaped after it, her elegant body almost flying after her toy.

She caught it midair, and Lysandra smiled softly as she returned, looking to her left.

The doors were open, and the room mostly empty except for a couch against a wall, a big carpet in the center and a piano atop of it.

She tripped her way inside, absentmindedly shutting the doors behind her and hurrying to the instrument, running her hand across the smooth, black surface. The sun filtered weakly, giving it an almost mystique light, and she ran her finger over a droplet of water on the surface, only to notice that it had come from her.

She sat on the bench, not caring at the moment that it was too high up, and put both hands over her mouth to muffle her cries. The last thing she needed was those three guys hearing her and coming in to check. She didn’t want them in that room. She wanted to be left alone to drown in her guilt.

When had he done all of that? The remodeling, the garden and the piano? Why hadn’t he told her? Why did she have to hurt everyone around her?

Antony wasn’t the type to say much. He had only said that he loved her once, in the heat of an argument, and she had been so out of it that she hadn’t even noticed until weeks later. He wasn’t one to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, or use overly affectionate nicknames, but he had always looked out for her, and that, at least to Lysandra, had resonated more than any intricate, poetic love declaration anyone could come up with. 

He made sure to call or text to remind her to eat and sleep, and when he visited her back in Poitiers he would stock her up in frozen food made by himself. It tended to take him most of a day, a day which she would prefer to spend doing literally anything else, but she had quickly learned to enjoy it. It made for an endearing sight.

He listened carefully when she began her endless chatters about music, even if he didn’t understand a single word, which was much more than most people she knew did.

The way he looked at her, or held her, kissed her, the way he took her was all consuming. Even at first, when the only thing they wanted from each other was sex, being with him had felt like drinking water after several days. It was new and familiar all at once, and somehow, the more they did it, the more they had wanted to do it again.

And now this. The safe house he ran to when the world was too much, where apparently only a few others had stepped foot before her, was completely changed, and she couldn’t help but have the arrogant certainty, once more, that it was because of her. Because he had promised to stop hiding her, because he knew she had an irrational love for flowers, and because he knew that music was in essence all she knew and loved to do.

She couldn’t remember the exact moment in which her tears stopped flowing, nor the one when she began playing, but then she stopped, turned around, and found him standing under the threshold, casually leaning against it, watching her carefully.

Lysandra swallowed. What to say? What to say? She had been so preoccupied with making it to Rome as fast as possible, with making sure that he was alright, that she hadn’t taken a single second to consider what explanation she could give him for her presence, especially after all that time.

“Antony.” she greeted him lamely.

“Lysandra.” her name on his lips, even when it sounded so carefully devoid of emotion, sent shivers down her spine. He walked in, closing the door behind him, giving the keys a brief look. “I’ve heard that before, I think.”

“I don’t,...I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention.” she confessed, clearing her throat as he approached. She gripped the bench, resisting the urge of jumping into his arms.

He stood right next to the piano, leaning slightly against it, and her heart was suddenly beating too loudly. Her grip tightened.

“It sounded like the symphony from the contest.”

Ah, that.

“Yeah, probably. That’s probably what it was.” they remained in silence for a few, tense seconds. “I saw you there, but they told me you left.”

“Yes, I had things to do.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” she nodded, looking down at the keys. She refused to tell him that the instrument needed to be tuned. 

“Did you win?”

“No.”

“What a bunch of idiots.” he said, his tone still dry.

She smiled nonetheless.

“But I got a job thanks to that.”

“Ah, so  _ someone  _ is smart.”

She looked up again, and found his dark eyes on her, burning its way right into her soul.

“Why are you here, Lysandra?”

“I saw the news. I was worried.” she decided that it was best to just be honest.

“Mm. Worried. About me?”

“Yes.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

She looked away in shame, tears prickling in the back of her eyes. Ok, she deserved that.

She heard Antony sigh, and the next thing she knew, he had taken a seat next to her. His side was flush against hers, burning deliciously, a delicious torture.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

“No,  _ I’m  _ sorry.” she turned to him, and he to her, and she noticed first hand how tired he seemed, how weathered down. “I’m so sorry, about…”

He rose a finger.

“Shh, it’s fine. We both did everything wrong anyways. If we start apologizing, we’ll be here all night.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her at that, and he turned his head to her with a smile, soft smile of his own. Antony rose his hand, and gently wiped her cheeks from her tears. Lysandra closed her eyes, having been starved from his touch.

She felt movement, but didn’t open her eyes. Then, his breath was right above her, hot and heavy.

“Tell me, are you staying this time?” he asked in a hushed tone.

She nodded briskly, and felt his thumb running over her lower lip.

Then, she felt his lips on her, and she surrendered to him gladly. She melted into his side, returning the kiss with all she had, burying her hands on his hair, getting reacquainted with the way he felt.

His hands found her hips and he pulled, and she let herself go with his motions until she rested on his lap, her legs on each side of his hips as his hands travelled up her back.

She kissed him like someone who hadn’t drank in days, and he kissed her like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. 

Lysandra pressed herself to him when his lips quickly moved across her jaw, her neck and down to the valley of her breasts, unbuttoning her shirt.

She moved against him, feeling just how much he had missed her as well. They stared at each other for a moment, and then she stood abruptly, unbuttoning her jeans and yanking them down with Antony’s help. She kicked her shoes off awkwardly, her need getting the better of her, and he got rid of all the fabric, practically ripping her panties apart.

He sat her on the piano, the keys sounding in an awful, almost screeching way as he hovered over her, his hands ravishing her roughly.

She moaned, throwing her head back, giving him access to her neck. Her hands reached down to his own pants and she pulled on the belt, trying to get it undone.

Antony grabbed her hands and placed them on each of her sides, extended like a T. His nose brushed hers, and when she tried to lean up to kiss him, he pulled away, smirking down at her.

The next time she tried, he indulged her, and kissed her back with an urgency that disarmed her. Antony let go of her hands and she wrapped her arms around him. She heard the rustling of the fabric and half sighed half moaned when he entered her in one swift movement.

They both remained still for a single moment, breaths mingling, staring into each other's eyes.

“Antony,...”

He began to move then, as swift and hard as she remembered. She clung to him, her feet finding a stabilizer on the bench as he drove up into her, growling in her ear, pulling at her hair.

That was why she hadn’t found someone to take her mind off him. It was perfect, in its own primitive, brutal way; like the piece of a puzzle. Nobody could compete after she had met perfection.

He sat on the bench and she accommodated herself atop of him, aware of only him.

Antony buried his face in her chest, taking one of her breasts into his mouth, and she groaned loudly, having to lean back, putting both arms atop the keys to stabilize herself.

His hands grabbed her ass and he pushed her into him over and over, their sounds filling the room, giving the illusion that there was no one else in the world.

His lips and tongue traveled further down, as far as he could go, and then he rose his eyes, straightening his back, taking a fistful of her hair and forcing her to make eye contact.

He thrust into her, quickly making her come undone, but she didn’t dare to look away, and when she did came, the way his eyes darkened at the sight made it all the better. He followed suit after a few more thrusts, burying his face on the crook of her neck.

They stayed there, in their awkward position for a few seconds, not wanting to ruin the moment.

She ran her hands down his back and he looked up.

They shared a little smile, and he picked her up in his arms.

* * *

 

It was well into the night when Lysandra let herself fall against the pillows, covering herself up to her chin with the blankets, and turned on her side, admiring Antony’s profile.

He was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, the corners of his mouth turned upwards almost imperceptibly.

Lysandra snuggled closer to him, and he put his left arm around her, his hand starting to play with her hair. She switched, preferring to use his bicep as a place to rest her head.

One of her hands travelled across his chest in a loose hug, and she smiled like an idiot at how nice it felt to be with him again, like they had never been apart to begin with.

She tangled her legs with his and briefly kissed his side, looking up at him brightly. He smiled down at her, his other arm coming around her waist with confidence but tender. She burned at the touch, and tried to snuggle even closer.

Their foreheads were now touching, and their noses brushed. Lysandra closed her eyes and kissed him softly. His hold around her tightened, and she could feel his heartbeat against her own, both matching in power and speed.

They separated to breathe, and she was back to using his arm as her pillow. 

Lysandra ran her finger down the side of his face, and scrunched up her nose when he kissed the tip. Her arm returned to its previous place, resting across his chest.

The silence felt monstrous almost, but it was far from being any sort of bother. 

She hadn’t felt so warm in quite some time.

Antony kissed her once more, briefly, and when he pulled back his eyes shone strangely.

He exhaled heavily, and opened his mouth:

“Marry me.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
